


Full Circle

by Crazythatcounts



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Eventual Romance, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Multi, Origin Story, Trans Junkrat, you can't stop me inserting my baes into my work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-07-22 11:25:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 59,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7435682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazythatcounts/pseuds/Crazythatcounts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, things happen for a reason. If you ask Roadhog, everything comes back around one way or another. But when they kill a child and he comes back more like one of them than before, the defacto Leader of Overwatch has to mend some wounds to make sure no one gets hurt in the long run. </p><p>Lots of past and current things, original character bc I can. Had things listed as implied but it's very not implied anymore so.</p><p>COMPLETE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pèlen

It was on one of Junkrat's usual heists, dicking around where they didn't need to dick around, when they found him.

 

They were in Illios, just under the radar of their new employers, basking in the warm sun and the sea air and planning to rob one of the best kept secrets in the area out of sheer _boredom._ Overwatch wouldn't really care, Roadhog told himself - they knew to leave well enough alone as long as the Junkers weren't blowing up civilians, or causing too much damage, and even then they were very good at turning a blind eye - as long as they kept the mission in mind while they relaxed. Overwatch had just recently taken control of several areas, including the ruins at the top of the scenic mountain, and had instructed the two Junkers to hold down the fort until others were free to take their spot. It was _supposed_ to be boring, and easy, which was Overwatch's way of trying to keep them out of the way while the others did the delicate dirty work that they would probably ruin. But they made a serious miscalculation in leaving Junkrat alone with basically nothing to do, because the young Junker barely knew how to sit still, and Roadhog wasn't usually keen on trying to keep the younger Junker in line unless he absolutely _had_ to.

 

It was terribly hot that morning, and they'd been out since sun up. Besides loping through the streets dressed like civilians - both had sunglasses and hats and shorts, and they'd tried to strip their more deadly gear for a lighter, more protective load - they'd gotten breakfast and cased the ruins in the north for the easiest way in and out. There weren't any walls to blow up, and most of the shiny, pretty things Junkrat liked - Roadhog hated to tell the others but half the "treasure" Junkrat had stored was useless baubles, even if the rest made up for the difference in value - were out in the open, with only a few things actively locked away. A good explosive would fix those, though, and Junkrat had his pockets stuffed full of small bombs. The larger bomb, they only had one, was in _Roadhog's_ pocket.

 

Roadhog looked to the sky briefly. He didn't have his mask, but the sunglasses made up for the lack of tinting and the air here was clearer than in the dead space he lived in before all this, so he didn't need it. It felt a little weird to be breathing the air straight up, the dusty smell of the mask gone and replaced with warm sea air, but it wasn't _bad_. He just felt a little naked, that was all. The sky was crystal clear, devoid of clouds, so clear it felt like he could look straight to the stars and into the space beyond. It reminded him of cold nights in the Outback before the war happened, when the sky was clear and the light pollution was low, but something about it smelled... off, like the spark in the air before a storm. There was a crispness in the air that made his hair stand on end, like something was going to happen today, something bad. He looked to Junkrat as they meandered and grumbled something gruff - he rarely spoke real words, mostly because the other didn't need them to know what he said. He was good at that, and Roadhog was more comfortable that way anyhow - he didn't have to feel so human, talking, and he could let that part of him rest in silence elsewhere, away from the terrible things he did without it.

 

"You're jus' bein' paranoid. Nothin's gonna happen t'day unless we _make it_ happen." The smaller of the two grinned broadly, talking quickly and adjusting the shades that were too big for his eyes. He finished his boba tea with a loud slurp and tossed the cup in the general direction of a trash bin, walking past without a care. Usually, he wouldn't make it in, and Roadhog was preparing himself to pick up after the slobby mess of a boss and friend, but instead he paused.

 

The cup went straight into the bin, dead center. No circle of the rim or bounce or nothing, and Junkrat didn't seem to notice.

 

Junkrat kept on walking, his half limp gait not really gaining him much distance, going over the plan in a voice that half knew Roadhog wasn't listening and didn't give a flying fuck, leaving the other staring at the can and then the sky with a tingle on the back of his neck. If _that_ wasn't indicative of something happening today, nothing else would be. Roadhog wasn't a superstitious man, but living in the tiny hell that was Australia for all his life made him learn a few things about give and take, about how the world moves in circles and always comes back on itself. Call it Karma or retribution or even call it fake philosophy, but it happened, and something was telling him the world was doubling back. But he couldn't dwell on it, not with Junkrat already moving off, because one of them had to stay focused on keeping them both alive - and Junkrat rarely ever took that job himself.

 

They moved into the ruins, taking a leisurely tourist route until they'd passed all pretenses of "supposed to be there". They would have snuck a little better, instead of just strolling, but there was no one around to really sneak past, so they ended up just walking straight to where they wanted to go. The area they found themselves in was quiet, serene even, situated at the bottom of the mountain. A long winding path led up to a small series of ruined stone houses and a larger, padlocked stone great hall towards the middle. The path twisted down around the mountain side until it reached beach, and the drop off the path was sheer and terrible. Even Overwatch hadn't turned this area into anything in particular, so it was unsullied and untouched, for the time being. The ruins almost sparkled in the sunlight, and the only brighter glint were the bombs Junkrat was setting up at the entrance where the path met the houses.

 

"Just a bit of precaution." He said, when Roadhog gave him a questioning grunt. "Just in case some drongo comes runnin' in here tryin' t'bust us, got him a little _gift_." There was that grin again, almost manic, that spark in Junkrat's eyes that came from fiddling around just on the brink of danger, tying off the last of the trigger and listening for the armed _beep_. He then moved past, hobbling a little funny on the uneven stone floors, setting up a bear trap just by the large bomb Roadhog had bought - Roadhog could see the plan in his own head, knowing whomever got trapped there would get a face full of bomb and knowing full well Junkrat could hear the sheering click of his own traps going off from _miles_ away, almost super humanly so - grunting a little as he locked the trap open. "You stay right there, Hog, I'll be right back. Don't know how these bombs are gonna function, best not get us both caught in the blast."

 

Roadhog watched the other wander off, a little perturbed at the indication that Junkrat might need to be carried out because the bombs fail, taking up his own position near the entrance they'd picked. He pulled out his hook, which was the only weapon he was carrying that day, and tested the weight in his hands. They were traveling light, and the junk gun was heavy - besides, he was readily capable of making the hook look like a fisherman's tool rather than a deadly weapon. There was a slight archway to his right - that led straight to bomb filled terror in a narrow pathway between the buildings - and the path continued behind him, most likely able to sweep around and rejoin the area on the other side. To his left, a sheer drop, probably fifty feet or so, straight into rocks and deep ocean. He decided to take up position to block the winding path, so anyone trying to stop them would either dive fifty feet to their death or veer into explosive hell if they decided they didn't want to fight him.

 

And he wasn't planning on being merciful, so the drop seemed like the best choice of death.

 

He could hear Junkrat bustling about in the ruins, whistling a soft tune, shuffling around rocks and stuffing a bag full of treasures. He needed to make sure he made a final sweep through the area himself, because Junkrat almost always missed something large and actually worth money in his need to pick up every little thing that shined. Otherwise, it was quiet, save the roll of the ocean down below, and the patter of birds trying to nest in the area, and the soft breeze rustling the little vegetation.

 

He paused. The patter sounded less and less like birds every minute that went by, and it kept getting closer. Like little feet padding along the stone, quick and quiet. Whatever it was, it was coming up the path, and something deep in Roadhog's nature wanted to shift his hook up and ready for the strike, but he stayed his own hand. He could wait, be patient - if they needed to die, they would. He shifted to block the entire path anyway, just because he could, hoping that whatever small being ran up on him would turn tail and run back the other way.

 

He didn't have to wait very long before the figure he was hearing appeared around the corner. It was a child, or at least as far as Roadhog could tell - once someone was a certain level of small he had a hard problem judging age, and this young boy, most likely a boy, was absolutely tiny - and he skidded to a stop just around the corner, panting hard. There was blood in the air, thick and heavy, the child bleeding from what looked like a large _bite_ on his side, tiny baby hands clutching desperately at it like maybe he could stop it bleeding. The bite seemed to take up most of the boy's abdomen and chest, and nearly tore the blue t-shirt he was wearing into pieces. It was definitely a shark, a large one, and Roadhog tried not to look too hard at it because too much attention might look like he cared. He just wanted to know the size of the thing that bit him. The child was decked out in simple fishing gear - a spool and a small hook, a knotted rope with a fish tied onto it, a small net across his back - and panting, breathless, in the shade of an overly large sunhat. The boy was obviously in pain, but didn't stop moving even though he was moving at a limp.

 

"Ede mwen?" The child asked, approaching the bigger man like he wasn't terrifying - and maybe in the Hawaiian shirt and shorts and sunglasses, Roadhog looked a little more friendly, but the hook should have been scary enough to keep him away - clutching at his wound tightly. The boy's eyes were bright blue and piercing and looking at Roadhog to help, full of fear and distress and pain, but the large man didn't make any indication that he would. This child - probably not a native child, considering the boy's dark skin and sandy hair and inability to speak basic Greek, because whatever he spoke sounded decidedly more French or African influenced - wouldn't find help with two criminals trying to break into an area, that was for sure. Not any that required police influence, and Roadhog only knew enough first aid to help his fellow Junker, which wasn't a lot.  So the child turned to the side, to walk the path into the ruins. Roadhog, without thinking, reached out to stop the boy, because while he didn't mind murdering people, children tended to be the exception and no boy should die at the hands of a bomb that big. Of course, this gesture was made quickly and with an angry grunt, and the child found _this_ scary and picked up to a run, not looking where he was running to, only that he need to remove himself from the vicinity quickly.  

The next moment happened at such a speed where Roadhog could feel each second tick by on his skin. The child stepped forward and the trap snapped up, clenching into his leg just below the knee so hard and fast Roadhog swore he could see straight muscle through the teeth and almost definitely heard the snap of bone. He fell as Roadhog stepped forward, and the boy's face nearly landed on the mine itself, the body of the thing just in front of him, arm wrapped around it languidly. Roadhog could see Junkrat in the distance, see him snap to like a rodent on alert when the trap closed, that sheering noise enough for him to know, saw his raised hand press down on the button without looking, but he wasn't fast enough to stop any of it. There was a moment when the air was thick with panic, just before the fuse combusted inside the mine, and then the whole thing exploded with a happy, obnoxious laughing noise.

 

The next thing Roadhog saw was the trap flying at his face, and then everything went black.

 

~*~

 

He came back to Junkrat bending over his face, calling his name, one warm hand and one cold clutching at his cheeks. The sun was bright, so bright, _too_ bright, and he shut his eyes again with a groan, feeling at his own face. Everything smelled of copper and his lips and nose were wet and sticky and his glasses had shattered at some point, leaving shards in his face. He cast off the bent frames, rubbing a forearm over his eyes to wipe the glass away, grabbing blindly with the other hand until Junkrat got the cue and stuffed his shades into the empty fist. Of course the shades were a little small, but Roadhog could at least _see_ now, which was better than nothing.

 

 _This_ is why he was wearing his gas mask everywhere from now on, blending in be damned.

 

"Thank god you're still breathing, y'fat bastard, I thought you'd carked it! That trap right near took yer head off." Junkrat pressed his hands to Roadhog's face in a weird, affectionate partial hug, and Roadhog brushed him off with a grunt. He felt like hell, of course, having apparently gotten smashed in the face with the steel trap, and he cleared his nose violently. The blood smell only partially went away, and he felt the blood running down his chin anyway. He didn't care, scanning around for the child. Hopefully the little fuck didn't go vaulting off the cliff edge to his certain death.

 

"Kid's over 'ere, if yer lookin' for 'm." Junkrat toed the body with his real foot, balancing startlingly well on the peg. "Ankle biter nearly went careening off the cliff, managed t'catch yer hook on the net. Pulled 'm right up m'self, net got rooted all t'hell, though." Junkrat picked up the net, which had a large gaping hole in it. "Didn't think I'd be settin' a trap fer a tiny fellow like that, all things considered." He shrugged, toeing the boy again, and Roadhog shifted to look at the broken body lying in the road.

 

The boy's right arm was bent back in an odd way, the right leg still attached to the trap, dug in too deep to pry off without severing the limb itself. His face was half burnt, the hat cocked off to the side awkwardly, lips chapped and charred, his tshirt torn open at the shoulder and his skin there black. He was still bleeding from the shark bite, but the blood was sluggish and barely there. The boy's chest wasn't moving.

 

"He doesn't look good, mate." Junkrat bent down to be on the same level as Roadhog, who was kneeling gently on the street. "Used yer com, called the others. They're sending a chopper t'get us 'n him. Don't think he's gonna make it, but might as well give it a shot." Junkrat clapped his warm hand on Roadhog's back, watching as the larger man bundled the tiny frame into his arms. The boy was absurdly light, probably the reason he went flying in the first place, and Roadhog tried not to crush the already broken arm as he carried the boy away. Of course, walking through Illios with his face covered in blood carrying what appeared to be a very dead child didn't help their, uh, _disguises_ , but at this point Roadhog didn't care.

 

He wanted to make this right, before the world decided to come full circle on him instead.


	2. Swen

Roadhog could tell Mercy had absolutely no idea where to start on the boy. They had arrived quickly, the chopper moving them fast from Greece to Gibraltar without stopping, and Mercy had been waiting when they arrived. She hovered, wings fluttering gently, almost afraid to touch the boy's broken body, a worry on her face that neither Junker had seen before. She'd seen hell on the battlefield, their injuries and others injuries alike, and they'd never seen her make such a face before. Junkrat didn't know what to say when she asked what happened, only that it was an accident, that there was a mine and a trap and there was nothing to be done about how it went, that it just _happened_ that way. Roadhog stayed silent, even as Mercy hefted the body from his arms and carried it away, her face telling him the boy was just as light to her and he was to Roadhog, leaving the two of them alone with their thoughts in the empty entry point. She'd left them a few basic supplies, and Roadhog proceeded to try and treat his own injuries, the room dark enough for him to take the sunglasses off.

 

"Hog, y'think he'll be okay?" Junkrat asked, once the silence fell and tried to take hold like a vice. Roadhog was pressing a cloth to his face to stop his nose bleeding before he put his mask back on, mostly listening as the other spoke. Of course, his nose outright refused to do so, and he tossed the rag to join the two others he'd gone through the short time they'd been there, grabbing a clean one from a nearby table. "I mean, those bombs were a bit crook, only really made t'keep the others flat out f'r a bit, just 'til I could clock one of 'um with th'real stuff. 'N he kin live without th'leg, do it m'self, every day, right as rain. Right?" Junkrat finished with a question, like he wasn't sure of his own words, like maybe most people _can't_ live without limbs or survive slightly off bombs to the face and get back up again, and he just couldn't tell.

 

There was silence, dreaded and unnerving, thick and heavy with sorrow from the other, and Junkrat seemed to deflate after a moment, feeling the weight of it all on his shoulders. "Y'think he carked it. That'd be right, I guess." Here he paused, quiet for a moment, letting the despair of the moment wash over him, letting his head sink under for just a second, before picking up steam like he was trying his hardest to just keep chugging on, keep his head above water, despite it. "Yer face okay? Didn't knock nothin' 'portant out, did it?" There was a longer pause, full of only Roadhog's verbal silences, weighty and tired. "Mm, feelin' a bit stuffed m'self."

 

Roadhog nodded, pressing another clean cloth to his nose, which was finally slowing it's bleeding. Junkrat went quiet, which was mildly unnerving, because quiet Junkrat was thinking too much and too hard for what little brain he had left that wasn't completely swamped with radiation. The bigger man shifted, clapping a free and slightly bloody hand to Junkrat's back in a comfort gesture, because keeping the other's mind off the terrible was part of the reason he took the job in the first place. Sure, it paid well, but Junkrat was fairly capable of protecting himself from most of the other Junkers, and Roadhog had found that being the younger's body guard came with a few perks - like being able to stuff all the terrible things Junkrat felt into his own personal gaping hole of lost humanity, keeping the young Junker happy and hopeful. Keeping Junkrat hopeful made Roadhog feel just a little more human some days, which was a blessing in and of itself - because he never needed to _be_ human to _feel_ human like that, and he could go right on doing all the things he usually did without having to worry about whether he'd still feel human later. Junkrat's hope wasn't that kind of black and white.

 

"It's not your fault." The grumble was more muffled than usual, and a little big nasally, thanks to the towel, but the words seemed to bring the spirit back into the other.

 

"Yer right, course, nothin' I coulda done 'bout it. Trap worked as planned, stood out like a shag on a rock, how the ankle biter missed it I don't know. Can't blame m'self for what he did on his own." Junkrat shrugged, and it seemed to bring back at least a little of the pep in his voice, even if his shoulders sagged a little. Roadhog patted Junkrat's back twice more before pulling back his hand, wiping at his face with the corner of the messy towel. Most of the bleeding had stopped, finally. He looked up with a small wave when they were joined by another, and he brought with him a quiet air. He looked a little surprised to see Roadhog sitting around without his mask, but it wasn't unpleasant or unwanted.

 

"I see you both got into a bit of a scrape." Solider 76 was wearing his mask and goggles, so there was no indication of what his face was doing, but there was something weary in his voice, and maybe a smile. Junkrat tossed him a sloppy salute before speaking.

 

"Got into a bit of a tussle with the little one in the other room. He didn't come out as good as we did." Junkrat shrugged, leaning against Roadhog's arm. He was warm where Roadhog was cold, and that felt good for both of them. Soldier 76 shifted a little, and there was a soft _ah_ in his movements, the shift of his mouth into the shape visible in how he stood. Roadhog understood the perplexities of communication through body language, as he used it as his primary speaking tool daily. Junkrat understood it because he spent so much time around his friend that rarely spoke. "Somethin' up, cobber?"

 

"I didn't realize you two were responsible for the boy's... condition." Soldier 76 was picking his words, and that didn't sit well with Roadhog. No one ever picked their words unless they were dancing around a delicate topic, and if anything Soldier 76 was like a father to most of the team and tended to shelter the rest of them from things he didn't think they were ready for. This seemed like one of those times. "I should inform you of the boy's condition, then." And with that, he pulled up a chair, and Roadhog shifted up slightly, attentive. This was _sitting down_ level sheltering - something serious had happened. Not that they weren't already dealing with fairly serious shit, but something had gone from bad to much worse. Some days Roadhog just wished the man would take the mask off and stop being so mysterious about everything.

 

"We know he gotta face full 'a 'splosive, if that's whatcha wanna tell us. Y'dont have t'get clucky with us, mate." Junkrat crossed his peg over his leg and leaned forward on his hands, a little chiding. Obviously, Soldier 76 had no idea what _clucky_ meant, or he may have been more irritated at Junkrat's statement. However, even with his lack of understanding he still seemed a little put off, and it was probably for the best.

 

"The child's _dead_." The words were hard, but they didn't strike the blow Soldier 76 thought they might. Junkrat seemed a little surprised at the words, but not like how Solider 76 seemed to have expected. He seemed to have thought the words would bring distress, but they brought more a reminder of what both had already expected and processed.

 

"Yeah, 'Hog figured the kid carked it. Didn't think he was breathin' right when we left on the chopper." Junkrat shrugged, tried to play it off like it wasn't a big deal to them, but Roadhog could tell Junkrat was having a hard time. His hand on Roadhog's arm jittered a little, like he still sort of blamed himself for it and the confirmation of the kid's death didn't help. "Can't she bring 'm back, though? Fix both of us right up in a jiffy all the time." He leaned forward, nodding along with his own words.

 

"This is different, Junkrat." Soldier 76 leaned forward on his knees, war weary and tired. Weren't they all. "She's good at bringing us back, yes, but she's not a _god_. She knows us, and we've never dead for more than a few _seconds_ at best. She doesn't know him, doesn't know what is and is not supposed to be there in the first place, and he's been dead since the chopper arrived at your location." The old man sighed, and Roadhog felt the silence linger like a bad taste. The child had been dead most of the way there, and it was a strange feeling for Roadhog, because the idea that the child died in his arms was a heavy thought and weighed on his mind. It weighed heavily on Junkrat as well, he could tell from the set of the young Junker's face.

 

"Hooley Dooley." Junkrat pressed a hand to his own head, because the gravity of everything was starting to settle like dust after a storm and he didn't seem mentally ready for it all. "So what happens next, then? He just gone cactus for good? Nothin' she kin do but put a sheet over 'is face 'n call it day?"

 

"She's going to try her best, but there's no guarantee of anything at this point." Soldier 76 reached up and popped his mask off, letting his face air out. His lips were pursed in a tight frown. "Worst case scenario, he doesn't make it. He goes _cactus_ , as you said. We try to find his parents and let them know what happened, and once we've settled the external affairs we can determine a punishment for you two." He nodded, and the mention of _punishment_ had both Junkers a little on edge.

 

"Wha'd'ya mean, _punishment_? Pig's arse!" He slammed his own hand down on his knee in protest, and then paused, looking to Roadhog with a temporarily sheepish face. "No offense, . But y'can't just root us like that! Y'gonna just slap somethin' on us if the kid carks it for real? S'not like y'sprung us or nothin' - we were doin' _exactly_ as ordered, guarding the city. Figured you were t'full quid, but if yer gonna punish us fer doin' as stated without givin' us a fair go, can't say I figure that anymore." He crossed his arms, watching his words wash over the old man's face. Soldier 76 sat there for a long, long moment, trying to internally translate Junkrat's speech into something he could understand. Eventually, he seemed to process the gist of it, and held up a hand before the impatient Junker could keep talking.

 

"This is, may I remind you, is the worst case scenario. I think we all hope the child will come out of this alive, but if he dies on our watch, we can't let it slide. You were supposed to be guarding Illios from Talon, not from children, and while I understand this was an accident, you _were_ in unauthorized areas. Even if the rest of the world sees Overwatch as criminals, I'd at least prefer our internal structure stay clean, which means if the child dies something needs to happen. I'm not going to throw you in jail, but there will be _something_." He sighed, holding up his hand again because Junkrat was two seconds away from going off on another tirade and he didn't want that right now. "However, the _most likely_ scenario is more complicated. What we _think_ will happen is that he'll come back, but he won't come back as he was. We're not sure what will happen, only that if he does come back, it's highly unlikely that he'll be the same."

 

"Aw'roight, then. Why're y'tellin' us?" Junkrat frowned, shifting uncomfortably, like he knew why.

 

"Because if the child comes back with any sort of abilities, I expect the two of you will be the ones to raise him." Soldier 76 smiled, just a little, with no teeth, in a fatherly sort of way. Like raising the boy was partially a punishment for making this mess in the first place, but it wasn't anything either Junker could argue with. Roadhog remembered having kids around when he was young, and there was a strange pleasantness to the idea. Maybe the kid would have enough energy to keep Junkrat occupied when the going got slow, so they wouldn't end up in more situations like these. It was worth a shot, at least.

 

"Helden sterben nicht!" They all looked up as they heard it, the cry from a few rooms down, faint but present. There was a tingle in the air, a moment of spark, the feeling of wellbeing in a rush to flood their systems, and then it faded. Roadhog's felt his face - it seemed more fine than before, an aftereffect of whatever it was that Mercy even used to raise the kid from the dead, something lingering in the air that fixed up all wounds. They all turned to the hallway, watching silently, attention focused and rapt. Mercy reappeared after a long moment, a weary smile on her face.

 

"Good news." She smiled, and there was a release of tension at her words, the held breath that he didn't make it let go in satisfaction. "He is alive. He is fighting a high fever and has severe damage to some of his limbs, but he is alive. I will have to keep an eye on his progress to make sure he does not relapse, and the woods are not clear, but it worked." She sighed, heavily, and Soldier 76 stood and approached. She leaned on him gratefully - she, like everyone else, was all sorts of tired.

 

"Go sit with the boy." The old man shooed the Junkers off with one hand, the other supporting the angelic healer. "Consider that your new station until you get more orders. I need to go reinstate someone at your post, and you," He looked to Mercy, "need to rest." With that, the pair shuffled off, leaving the Junkers sitting around again in silence.

 

"Want t'visit the anklebiter?" Junkrat asked, gesturing with his head, and he received a grunt of affirmation in return. The pair headed for the room, tottering down the hallway at an even and slow pace, and when they arrived they weren't honestly shocked. The kid looked like he'd been through hell. His right side was covered in bandages, he was breathing through a tube, and his chest was barely moving up and down with the rhythm of breathing. But his heart was beeping at them, slowly but surely, and that was a good sign.

 

"Hey there, y'little bastard." Junkrat pulled up a chair to sit by the head of the bed, and his tone was the softest Roadhog had ever heard. "Y'got new pops now. Gonna make sure y'grow up big 'n strong so next time y'try t'fight with one o'me mines, y'win." He smiled, and the statement made Roadhog chuckle, the guttural laugh loud and deep. The heart rate monitor picked up a little, like maybe there was some change from the words, and Junkrat grinned harder. "Lookit, Roadie, think he likes yer laugh."

 

Maybe, Roadhog thought, standing in the doorway, a smile on his large and boarish lips, maybe he'd grow to like the kid like he liked Junkrat. The extra spark of humanity would be nice, now and then. And hell, if this was how the world doubled back, he was okay with it.


	3. Envizib

It was three long days before the child finally woke up enough to function. The first two days they had a few moments where they thought he was awake, where his eyes would flutter open - the right one glassed over and foggy, the white of the eye tinted an off color - and he'd gasp like he was trying to breath, and then he'd pass back out again. Junkrat was starting to get frustrated with the process - "It never takes _me_ this long t'get back on m'feet!" - and his grunting and angry noise making was starting to wear even Roadhog thin. So the older Junker decided, on the third day, when Junkrat had started his process of sitting in the chair beside the head and of the bed and making the occasional frustrated grunt noise, that he'd leave for a few hours. It wasn't like a half dead body could cause that much trouble, even with Junkrat involved.

 

He didn't tell anyone where he was going, of course. He wasn't planning on doing anything particularly _legal_ , as he was already on what seemed like probation and he didn't want to actually land himself or his partner in worse trouble. It didn't mean he _wasn't_ going out, just that he was going to do so quietly. He slipped out to the corner store unnoticed, where the manager didn't even try and resist - Roadhog didn't need a gun or his hook out to intimidate the clerk, because he'd robbed this place before, and the clerk simply just hid and let the large man do as he wished. There were juice boxes and fruit snacks and jerky and pickles - all things he knew Junkrat ate without question, because Junkrat didn't always eat things and he needed to make sure the boy would stay fed, and the other kid would probably enjoy the treats as well - as well as a few stuffed creatures, including a small janky stuffed shark. There was also curry mix, which Roadhog stuffed into a bad as well, and then he grabbed a few things for himself before heading out. The clerk didn't make a peep the whole time, so he deserved to live another day.

 

When Roadhog returned to the area, there was a moment of worry. The room seemed quiet, deathly so. Junkrat would occasionally have small conversations with the boy to pass the time, even asleep as he was, but there wasn't even a peep from the room. He approached the door, ready to break it down, but paused in surprise as it opened. Junkrat was sitting in his usual seat, quiet and focused, fiddling with _something_ in his hands. Next to him, sitting up, was the boy. He could only lift one arm, the other bandaged and in his lap, and he was still breathing from a tube, but he was sitting up and watching intently. Junkrat finished whatever task he was doing - which Roadhog realized was simply tying a very complicated looking knot into a large piece of rope - and handed the rope over. The boy, using his one good arm and right hand, set to work untying it with a look of focused amusement.

 

"Oye, Roadie! Back already!" Junkrat waved, catching his partner in the doorway, and the boy looked up as well. There was a long moment where the boy looked ready to try and hide under the covers, face going pale with fear, but Junkrat intercepted it and immediately went to sooth it. "Hey! No need t'look at ol' Roadie like y'just seen a Bunyip bog in on a bloke. Jus' cause he's built like a brick shit house don't mean he would hurt ya - his blood's worth bottlin', if I'm gonna be deadset." He paused, and the boy's face shifted to something even Roadhog couldn't read, but Junkrat seemed to be in tune with the boy's expressions. "He's just like you are. He got a bit banged up, can't breathe right, th'mask keeps him goin'. Jus' like m'arm." Junkrat waggled his metal fingers in the kid's face, and the boy giggled, nodding along before returning to his task.

 

"Lil' Streetmouse here woke up jus' after y'left." Junkrat shrugged, turning fully to face Roadhog, who shoved the bag into his arms. He rooted around a moment, making excited "oo"s and "ahh"s at the items within, pulling out a packet of fruit snacks and tearing it open with his teeth. "Bonzer, mate, thanks heaps." He spoke with the plastic still in his teeth, and Roadhog grunted in acknowledgement, pulling up a chair beside the other. The kid was pulling away at the rope, and the big man could see he was untying the knot effortlessly, even though Junkrat had done his hardest to make sure the thing looked like it was a pair of headphones that went through the washer. "He's real good at that." Junkrat pointed out, gesturing with half a pickle and chewing the other half. "Even turned around once, didn't let 'm see me tie it, had it back right 'n thirty seconds." He looked to Roadhog with a look that was mostly proud as, as soon as he spoke, the kid held up the rope, unknotted and untied. The boy nodded, seeming to register Junkrat's look of praise, and Junkrat tossed the boy a packet of fruit snacks for his trouble.

 

There was a pause, curious and soft, before Junkrat spoke again. "Call 'm Streetmouse 'cause he's all little 'n mousy, right? Found 'm on th'street all by his lonesome. Real quiet, like a church mouse, don't speak none, don't hear outta one ear, _mostly_ hears outta the other but it's goin' too. That'd be right, course, when y'put'cha melon right up on a bomb like that." Junkrat leaned forward in demonstration, snapping his fingers first by the kid's right ear - gaining no reaction as the kid struggled with opening the snack package - and then by the left, which seemed to register faintly in the boy's brain even though the sound was rather loud. "Ace at readin' lips, though." Junkrat nodded, reaching out to take the package and tear it open with his teeth too, handing it back to the child. The boy - Streetmouse now, as far as either of them knew - didn't seem to understand what the package contained, but a bite of one and his face lit up in joy.

 

Roadhog didn't say anything, as usual, especially about the fact that church mice were usually excessively loud.

 

They sat in silence for a moment, calm and quiet. There was a sweetness to the quiet, like the quiet after the end of a busy day when everyone gets tired. It was a nice change of pace for the Junkers, who rarely had a quiet moment to themselves like this. Roadhog pulled a beer he'd taken for himself out of the bag - he didn't discriminate against beers, as long as they were lagers - and popped the top on the edge of his mask, lifting it a little to drink. He didn't like breathing the air in the Watch-point: Gibraltar, as its location made it dusty, but he felt the room was clean enough that he could enjoy a cold one. It was a rare thing for Roadhog to feel comfortable enough taking off his mask around someone other than the other Junker, and the moment didn't seem to get taken lightly. Junkrat reached for another beer out of the pack for himself, and Roadhog smacked his hand away almost playfully, but firmly - to delighted giggles from the peanut gallery. Peanut, Roadhog thought, was probably a slightly better nickname than Streetmouse, but Junkrat's sense of naming style was unique and touching, in a weird way. Junkrat pulled a pout, but there was no giving in on this one - this was _no time_ for Junkrat to start drinking. The last time he drank they nearly ended up dying, and they had _responsibilities_ now, people to take care of. He could drink later, and Roadhog's body language said as much.

 

Junkrat grumbled, crossing his arms dramatically, like if he pouted full on he'd get what he wanted, but Roadhog was stubborn, and there was going to be a stalemate at this rate. They stared each other down, because while both knew the other wasn't going to back down easy, it felt like a challenge after a moment, and neither could let a friendly challenge go unmet. However, there was no winner to the battle because they were interrupted by a small shriek. Junkrat was on point, spinning in his chair, unsure what to do but willing to do it all the same, but there was no damage to clean up. There was just the boy, and the fruit snacks, and the bag, floating in front of his chest where his arm should be. The rest of his good arm was entirely gone, vanished into thin air. Roadhog lowered his mask to get a good view and honestly, he wasn't sure what to do with it. There was no blood, no marks or any indication that his arm had been blown off or otherwise forcibly removed, and he looked otherwise fine, besides the fact that he looked absolutely terrified. Of course, the first think _Junkrat_ did was reach for the empty space where the arm should be, like maybe if he grabbed it just right, he'd bring it back. He seemed prepared for his hand to go straight through the space, but instead, he latched onto something solid and the size of a small arm. "S'still there." He seemed just as surprised as everyone else in the room that the arm seemed to be solidly there, just invisible, and he yanked the invisible limb up harder than he probably intended in observation, barely noticing the boy's face twist with slight pain. "How'd'you do that?"

 

The child shook their head, like they didn't _know_ how they did that, but they seemed a little less afraid now that it was clear his arm wasn't just outright _gone_. Of course, the lack of fear could also have been the presence of pain, because it was clear the direction their arm was going in was not natural, and Junkrat wasn't paying attention to where their arms were. "Think we should tell someone?" Junkrat turned to ask his partner, a slight note of panic in his voice like they'd just done something terrible, because of course they should tell someone the child just turned invisible randomly and of course they should let Overwatch know what they expected to happen _did_ happen, but he needed to hear it come from his partner straight out in confirmation anyway., Of course Roadhog was in favor of that idea, because he barely knew how to deal with what he and the other Junker could do in terms of battle abilities, and there was no telling what else the child could get up to if this was just the start of his abilities. The child was turning invisible, randomly, and only just his arm at the moment, which Junkrat had yet to let go of - was this something he could control? Was it something he needed to practice? Was it something he could do with just his arm or his whole tiny body? How were they supposed to raise a child that could just vanish? Was this some strange harbinger of terrible things to come, the world still turning back on itself, doubling over? He was so in favor of getting someone else, someone who was a little more versed in children than he was, when his memories of anything other than the apocalypse were half formed and distant hazes and when this child already was turning out to be more of a handful than Junkrat already was, that he was already standing. But Junkrat put his hand out, _finally_ releasing what was probably a death grip on the boy's arm to the child's relief, stopped him, and instead, simply pulled the heart rate monitor device off the boy's finger.

 

The machine had already been running at a high rate in the first place thanks to the pain, and as soon as it left flesh it started to blare at them loudly, because as far as it knew the kid just died again. Roadhog was less than delighted, because it was loud and obnoxious and called back to times he didn't want to remember, times when blaring alarms meant near death and near human robots were flooding out of red lit passages, times when every corner was a narrow escape from hell, but Junkrat was grinning at him with a silent victory on his face. He had reasoned, much to the other's dismay, that while going to find someone was definitely quieter, neither of them knew where anyone was, and the base was laid out in such a way that the open space Outback Champs wouldn't know how to navigate it even if they had a map. This way, they'd come to the room on their own, and they'd come _fast_. Of course, the sound of the alarm was also loud enough for the boy to be able to hear it, near deaf though he seemed to be, and with the sound and the invisible arm and all the panic in the room at large, he began to sob only the tears a child could sob. Hot and fat and hiccuppy, but relatively quiet all the same under the alarm, he seemed two seconds from letting out a wail, clutching his arm to his chest like if he didn't feel it against him it would vanish for good.

 

And then, to make everything worse, the stomping of boots on metal signaled the arrival of Soldier 76, weapon in hand and raised, like he expected some terrible thing to happen if he didn't have his gun out. He'd heard the alarm and come running, true to his in-base moniker of "dad", and neither Junker realized that he'd come in guns ready to blaze like maybe the child had turned rogue on them. The weapon seemed to scare the child even _further_ \- because seeing another new masked man come running into the room with a weapon drawn wasn't anything but terrifying - but instead of simply crying, he reached out with his one hand in a swift, almost throwing motion. It pulsed a ghostly blue as it moved and then, suddenly and with no warning, Soldier 76 was facing the exact opposite direction and running out of the room. This new power seemed to surprise everyone involved, even the child, who seemed to only panic more, and finally let out a loud wail.

 

It was chaos, loud and panicked and tense, and then suddenly it was quiet. Mercy had, in her quiet and practical way, snuck around to the other door and given the poor child a shot which dropped him back into a sweeter slumber, before returning the heart rate monitor to its proper finger, letting the machine fall silent. The room felt too quiet after all the noise, like everyone was afraid to speak and incite more racket, afraid to breath amid the deathly silence. Roadhog felt the room shiver at the quiet, watched the others shift uncomfortably without speaking, before finally Junkrat broke the silence.

 

"Hooley Dooley." He said, with a breath out like a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Figured you'd come runnin'." He nodded, trying to get back to his usual energy but feeling faded like he'd just been on a run. "Thought you'd wanna take a gander at what he kin do now." He reached over, lifting the boy's arm, which was still invisible, now all the way up to the arm.

 

"I saw what he could do." Soldier 76 looked concerned, visible brow furrowed, and Roadhog recognized the parental stance of his shoulders. The old man was full on Ultra Dad, full on damage control, a state Roadhog didn't like being all that familiar with. They looked to each other, and behind the masks they had a shared moment of resolve - because both were too intimately familiar with damage control, too familiar with picking up the pieces, and both realized they didn't have to do it alone. "I'm guessing he developed these after his... incident?"

 

"'E was right freaked, didn't take 'm fer a wuss." Junkrat crossed his arms, sitting back in his chair looking the most _calm_ out of everyone there. To him, this seemed fairly normal - he'd never raised a child, never really been around anyone much younger than him, and Roadhog guessed he just figured this was _normal_ for kids. Or at least kids brought back from the dead. "He'll be awlright, though, won't 'e? He'll sort himself out 'n be right as rain. Right?" He asked, and there was a chill in the room that Junkrat wasn't right. That the kid wouldn't be alright, that the issues he was facing would be too great for a child alone to face, and Junkrat, after a moment, looked a little washed over with the fear that _he'd_ have to figure out how to teach the kid things he had no knowledge of.

 

"No." Soldier 76 shook his head, holstering his weapon. "He needs a teacher, someone who knows what's happening to him." He paused, sighed, and it was heavy, there was so much weight on his shoulders and Roadhog could see all of it, could see him sag under it. The big Junker clapped the old man on the back, just once, a weird reassurance from a silent figure taking up most of the room, and it seemed to help. Helped him steady himself, resolve himself to what he needed to do.

 

"I need to go have a talk that I've been putting off for far too long."


	4. Pale

It was cold outside that night, after the incident in the medical bay. Cold but bright, with multitudes of stars. The sky looked almost ablaze with the amount of stars in it, and most people would have called it the most beautiful skyline since the Omnic Wars. It probably helped that Gibraltar was running on low power so they didn't attract undue attention from anyone snooping, so the light pollution was very low, but it didn't make it any less beautiful. When Soldier 76 left the bunker that evening, he left unarmed, jacket unzipped, hands in his pockets, head low. Not looking at the stars, just the ground. Lost in thought. Thinking about what he was going to have to do, because he knew what was coming. He knew what had happened to Reaper since Switzerland, knew what he'd become, and he realized his old charm may not work. He knew he may need to make a deal with what was basically the devil, and he needed to be prepared for it. But it was still a hard thing to push down, because there was always some fear that Reaper wouldn't give a shit what he said and just kill him outright.

 

Reaper watched him from the top of one of the many buildings, a dark wraith shadowed in the moonless night. He didn't know why he'd honestly come to visit that night, but something had driven him to do so. It was a weird inner instinct that made him want to come, to be there, like something was calling him. Like the world was making him double back, visit every place he'd ever been and see what had become of the people he'd left behind. Recently he'd been working for Talon, and they had sent him to old places and it felt strange but good to visit. They wanted Overwatch dead and gone just as much as he did, though for very different reasons, and he was okay with that. But they hadn't sent him on this mission - they hadn't sent him on a lot of missions recently, and it was starting to make him itch. He thought they were afraid he was being too sentimental, considering he was having a hard time subduing the fast girl and the ape, but that wasn't the issue. He didn't care about either of them - they were just fast and his partners weren't up to snuff to help him out, which was the issue - the only person he gave a shit about anymore was walking away just below, head down.

 

And honestly, Reaper had a hard time deciding if he cared, or just wanted to kill him.

 

Jack was moving slowly, thinking hard - those were what Reaper knew as his "thinking shoulders". He would always square them just so when he was thinking hard, and it was an easy tell, a good way to know when Jack wasn't paying any attention to anything you were saying and focusing on something else. Reaper followed quietly from above, watching him move slowly towards the cliff edge, watching him think. Something about him was still beautiful, white hair reflected in starlight, the tilt of his shoulders, and while part of Reaper felt like his old self the rest of him wanted to wipe that smug masked face off the planet for good to keep those feelings at bay. He considered shooting him right there, from afar, but that wasn't the right way for this to go down. No, if Reaper was going to kill Jack Morrison, he needed to do it close, personally. He needed to watch the man's face lose its luster, watch the life leave the man's eyes, the blood seep from his lips, and feel him lose the ability to breath. Jack deserved _that much_ , and he needed to make sure the other suffered for all the things he did. All the things he put Reaper through and never got reprimanded for. Dying once wasn't enough for either of them.

 

Reaper shifted to shadows, something he could do quickly and without effort, and reappeared behind Jack, quiet and wraithlike, the only sound the slight flutter of his cloak as he landed. Even his boots barely made noise on the ground as he walked, where the other man's crunched loudly on the dirt. Soldier 76 didn't turn, didn't move, didn't even flinch as Reaper pulled up behind him and Reaper's gun was leveled at his neck. "I didn't expect you to come out here unarmed, but I'm not complaining. It makes my job easier." His voice was like ice, the chill that runs down your throat when you drink a drink that's too cold, like a shoe scraping over gravel, the voice under your bed at night when you're trying desperately to sleep, but nothing about that frightened Soldier 76. Not the cold where there used to be warmth, not the gravel where it used to be clear and deep. He dipped his head a little more in a low chuckle, which was not the response Reaper honestly wanted. Soldier 76 stepped towards the cliff edge a little more, and Reaper didn't follow, lowering his pistol, trying to keep his emotions clear and his blood from boiling at the insolence of the other to not even be afraid. "If you wanted death, I could give that to you much quicker than a long fall." Reaper tried very hard to keep the strange plea out of his voice, try to make his offer sound like a gift and not a bargain for his own sanity. He didn't think he could watch the other fall, not without already being dead first - he needed to be the one to see him die, and anything else would leave him unsatisfied and empty.

 

"You haven't changed, Gabe. You haven't changed one bit." Soldier 76 spoke softly, slowly, a smile in his voice, a small laugh in his tone, familiar and warm, and he wasn't _wrong_. Reaper - Gabriel Reyes when Soldier 76 knew him better - had always been like that, assuming rather than waiting, jumping to a conclusion when he wasn't met with an answer. It was a good quality in a soldier, not waiting when things needed to be done, and it was something he was praised for in certain circles. But not ever circle enjoyed his attitude. Soldier 76 was well acquainted with Reyes in those other circles, intimately so, as they had been a "thing" back in the Overwatch days. They hadn't been a _public_ thing, hadn't ever really _dated_ , but they cared for each other deeply, and the sex was pretty good to boot. But it was that _thing_ that had tanked them all in the end, Overwatch included, because Reyes was needy and Jack worked too much and too hard and neither of them knew how to talk about their problems because they were raised in the military to be self sufficient. Jack didn't blame the military, though, or the rest of the societal institutions that forced them to remain behind closed doors and probably was part of the root cause of their inability to really be compassionate with each other when they wanted. No, he blamed himself. It seemed Reaper blamed him too, because when he spoke the other seemed to bristle as much as a shadow can, like a dog who's ears go back in anger and who's hackles stand on end. The shotgun lifted again, lined up with Soldier 76's face, inches away.

 

"Gabriel Reyes is dead." Reaper stepped forward, nearly pressing the barrel of the gun to the other's cheek. "He died in the explosion right alongside everything good he felt about you. So give me one reason I shouldn't just end this conversation." It was a growl, low and predatory, but Reyes had always been like that, always been snappy and grumpy, even when they had been sleeping in the same bed. Soldier 76 put a hand on the shotgun and lowered it with little resistance, stepping to the side. He reached up and removed his lower mask with one hand, goggles with the other, revealing his face as he approached. Reaper stepped back, because he couldn't fucking do this right now. He didn't want this sentimental fuck stepping into his headspace and making things hard again - that's why he needed Soldier 76 to die, because sentiment was killing him as much as it could kill a shadow. He'd visit these places and nearly feel something like _regret_ and he knew if the other was dead he could move on and get back to doing what he needed to do. That was what he as good at - getting shit done.

 

"Gabe." It was Jack's face under that mask, and Jack's voice, and his split lip and bad eyes and sweet smile and Reaper shifted back again because part of him loved that face and part of him _loathed_ that face, leveling the shotgun and pressing it against the other's forehead, metal cold against the pale skin there.

 

" _Don't call me that name_." It was the absolute most threatening Reaper could sound, and it finally felt like some kind of fear hit home in Jack's eyes. The other stepped back, and the sweetness had grown hard again, and Reaper wasn't looking Jack in the eyes anymore, but the Soldier that had been born out of them, cold and weary and tired. Reaper's finger ghosted the trigger, and Soldier 76 sighed the war weary sigh he had come to inherit over the war. He wasn't afraid of the gun, but of the man who didn't seem to care behind it.

 

"I need your help." He said, and Reaper's heart _sank_ in a way he didn't think it could anymore. Of _course_ the other just needed something from him - that's how it always was. Work until he was too tired to do anything, drink until he passed out, wake up and work again until he needed _something_. Blackwatch do this, Gabe babe do that, please listen to me complain about my job while I never ask you how you're doing, and he never asked what _Gabriel_ wanted or needed. He never left time for _Gabriel_ to complain or gripe or get what he wanted. Reaper, angered by this feeling, angered and hurt, stepped forward several strides with a suddenness and a purpose that Soldier 76 didn't predict, and the white haired old man had to back up to keep from getting pushed over. He only stopped when there was just the drop behind him, Reaper's mask up in his face, and the shotgun leveled at his head.

 

"You always need something from me. That isn't a good enough reason." He growled. For a moment, without mask and goggles, Soldier 76 looked scared. He was backed up against a ledge with nowhere to go, a gun to his head and Reaper was the angriest he'd ever seen, and he looked _scared_. Scared because before death was an option and now it seemed almost for certain. And it was Jack's face and Jack's eyes and Reaper hated every part of himself for wanting to back off and back down and make that face go away, and he hated every part of himself that _hurt_ to see it. But he didn't back off, he forced himself to stay there, even if his hand shook a little at his lack of resolve.

 

"There's a boy." And it was Jack speaking and pleading with him now, hands up, trying to be forever the politician that Overwatch turned him into. "He died, he came back. He can _do things_ none of us can. He's like you, and he's afraid of himself." Reaper shifted, listening to the words. Was Reaper a heartless bastard? No. He did what needed doing, but he wasn't _cruel_. And none of the rest of them were competent, and they were admitting that. But Reaper wasn't going to give in and just _do it_ because that sweet face asked him. He stopped doing that when he stopped being Gabriel Reyes.

 

"You want me to teach him." Reaper's voice was soft, but he didn't lower his stance. Keeping the other between death and other death was doing wonders for the conversation - Soldier 76 hadn't called him _Gabe_ once, which was an improvement. And while he hated himself for making the other afraid, part of him lived for the smell of fear that came with it. "Alright then. Make me a deal. Something I want for something you want." He could tell his smile came through his voice, and Soldier 76 nodded, a little less afraid. Steeled, almost, against what he was about to do. This was going to be good.

 

"Alright, here's a deal. You come teach the child. You'll need help, he can't hear. But you teach him, and if teaching the boy isn't rewarding, if you finish teaching him and you feel like you haven't earned anything for yourself out of it, you can..." Here he paused, straightening himself up, trying to be as cool as he could. Reaper could tell his hands were shaking, could tell he still felt afraid. It was one of the perks of dying. "You can kill me. However you want. _But_ if you enjoy teaching the child, if you feel like you earned another protégé in him, then you can stay. Stay and be one of us and help us try and rebuild. But you can't kill me, and you _can't kill him_."

 

"No." Reaper shifted forward, reminding Jack exactly how close to death he was, and Jack finally flinched. "I teach the child. And then I kill you. No conditions. I give Overwatch a new toy and then I take their old toy and rip his throat out while everyone watches. I want them to know what you had to give up to get the things you want." Reaper leaned in, close enough to smell the fear on 76's breath. "I want you to give everything you have to me. Including your last breaths."

 

"Fine. But the child stays with the Junkers when I die." Soldier 76 nodded, pressing back a gulp. He was put in a position he didn't want to be in. His death was guaranteed, but he had to. That child would grow up afraid of himself if there was no one to teach him, and he refused to let a child feel afraid for being what they were. Not after a small boy from Indiana grew up like that and ended up alone. Not after what happened to all of them.

 

"Deal." This hiss was sweet, sickly so, a grin on the man's face under the mask. "I can't wait to see your face when I kill you."

 

"I want to make a request." Soldier 76 asked, softly. "I want to see your face, just once, before I die. One more time."

 

"I'll think about it." Reaper shifted, teleporting away to the top of a building. He needed to get out of there before those lips got him making promises he didn't want to make. "Find a place to train the kid. I'll be there when you do." And then he vanished, leaving the other alone. Soldier 76 sank to his knees, sitting back on his feet and trying not to let his breathing escape him. He had promised Reaper he'd die, but that didn't have to be the end of it. He could bring the other back, he just had to plan. Plan and hope and pray that maybe there was a little bit of Gabriel Reyes left inside him.

 

He just couldn't tell the others what he'd done. They'd kill him first.


	5. Naje

Mercy had asked them to take the boy for a walk, and that's just what they were going to do. Among other things. She hadn't said to _just_ take him for a walk, so Roadhog and Junkrat weren't technically disobeying anything when they decided to make their outing a little more than just a stroll.

 

It was the next morning, and Streetmouse was awake again, bright and happy and feeling significantly better. He didn't need to be hooked up to oxygen anymore, was breathing on his own, and Mercy felt it was time he got some fresh air. The sun, she told them, was one of nature's best healers, and the vitamins he would get from some sunshine would do him wonders. He still wasn't very strong, though, and couldn't stand on his own just yet - even after eating a hearty meal with ferocity that even the Junkers were surprised at - needing to be wheeled around in a wheelchair. Mercy also figured that letting the boy get out of the confines of the house might make him feel stronger, and any practice at walking he could get would help.

 

It was mostly strength in his bad leg that was giving him trouble - both his right arm and right leg had to be operated on to keep them stable, the bones completely shattered in the incident and unable to heal while he was dead. Mercy had left him with pins in his leg and arm and little armor like plates on the outside to hold them in place and protect them from more harm, and regaining the strength to support the armor was the hard part. She'd also given him new clothes as best she could find - a tanktop that barely clung to his tiny chest that she cut the bottom off of so it didn't hang to his knees and a pair of slightly too large shoes she'd managed to dig up to go with his hat and shorts.

 

Junkrat had ditched the wheelchair just out of sight of the med-bay, opting instead to cart the little one around on his shoulders, and the boy had ditched the shoes not too long after. Streetmouse didn't seem to mind the change, and rather seemed to greatly enjoy the ride. He threw his hands in the air as he bounced along, Junkrat's uneven gait like a pony ride to him, unworried about the metal hand on his good leg or whether or not he would fall. Roadhog followed along, gasmask on his face, hiding his small smile at the other Junker, because as soon as they got just out of earshot, Junkrat started _singing_.

 

It was an old song Roadhog had taught him, once their strictly professional relationship had become a little more personal. They'd been together nearly a week when it happened, and Junkrat had divulged a thing or two about his own personal self in the act of needing help, so Roadhog had decided to pay the favor. The song was from back before the war, a song Roadhog's parents had liked back on the station where they lived, and while Roadhog wasn't a singer, he could hum the tune with the words.

 

Junkrat, however, wasn't just humming, he was belting it. He also really _couldn't_ sing, his voice mostly a screeching tire that cracked a lot and less anything remotely record worthy, but the kid was enjoying it. Mercy had managed to do a little more of her medical magic and halt the progression of the kid's hearing loss, so the boy could still hear a little bit. Mostly noise that was fairly loud, and only as garbled nonsense - he couldn't pick out the cadence of words if he wanted to, but what he could hear was enough to let him know someone was speaking and make him look at their face to read their lips. So the kid had _no idea_ what Junkrat was even saying, positioned behind the Junker's head in a place where he couldn't read lips, but he enjoyed the attempt all the same, and that was what mattered. Both Roadhog's boys were enjoying themselves, and that was what honestly mattered to him.

 

They were planning on taking the boy down to the shoreline to relax there for a bit. Mercy had told them to get him outside, and they were, of course, but they also knew how much the boy seemed to like the ocean. He was a kid who could fish, and they found him running off the beach at Illios, so it only made sense to them to take him as close as they could. There was a section of rocky beach that was accessible from the main rock still, with a small dock and a little bit of sand before the water's edge, and they walked down there, Junkrat singing all the while. Streetmouse immediately perked up as they neared the ocean, and nearly struggled his tiny child way off Junkrat's shoulders. Junkrat, in turn, almost fell over, and it was Roadhog that caught them both. He lifted the boy off Junkrat's shoulders, and set him on his feet.

 

It was like teaching a child to walk again, honestly. Streetmouse wanted to run to the shoreline, but he couldn't keep his own feet at first, and had to cling to Roadhog's overly large hands. When he managed to get his feet under him, they were shaking, and his first steps were uneasy and his hands were tight around the other's fingers. Roadhog let him walk at his own pace, feeling the boy get stronger steps as he moved, until he was almost walking on his own by the time they reached the beach. At that point the boy let go of Roadhog's hands and carefully waded into the water, the waves catching him as he fell with a laugh.

 

"Told'ya th'little anklebiter wanted t'be down here." Junkrat put his fists on his hips proudly, before running to the shoreline himself. He was just as bad as the boy was, wading around in the waist deep water, falling over into the waves. Roadhog watched them, like a father watching children playing in the ocean on a vacation.

 

It seemed like the water was helpful to the boy, supporting much of his weight as he leaned to walk again on his own. Junkrat waded around after him, rarely venturing deeper than his waist, shouting all the while. Occasionally he'd pick Streetmouse up by the waist and twirl him around, which made the boy giggle happily, before tossing him back into the water. After a while, though, both got tired and retreated to the dock where Roadhog sat. He didn't join them at any point, mostly because he didn't want to get his jeans wet, but there was something strange about visiting the water again. The last time he'd been to the ocean, it was dying in front of him, irradiated and deadly to the skin, and he had been afraid to touch it. Now the water seemed to tease him, invite him, but he was, in some part of his brain, still afraid. Even though he'd watched the others walk away without harm, he felt a little off about the idea of going in. He'd get there, eventually.

 

"You apples there, 'Hog?" Junkrat flopped himself down on the dock beside Roadhog, dripping wet. Somehow, he was dirtier after the ocean bath than before, even though logically the water should have washed him off. Streetmouse struggled to pull himself up onto the dock, and Roadhog lifted him to sit on his other side. The boy was happy, dripping wet as well, sunhat still sturdy on his head even with all the diving under water. "Seem a bit like y'should take a sickie." He nudged the larger in the ribs, and got a chuckle in return. Junkrat took that as a good sign and leaned forward, looking at the boy on Roadhog's other side. "Y'know what I think? _I_ think ol' 'Hog here needs a bath. Bit of a dip, yeah?" He grinned, that manic grin, and Roadhog shook his head. He stood, and the boy tried to stand to follow, toppling over onto his face instead. In the moment his hat slipped off his head, and the wind decided to pick it up. It landed a few feet away on the surface of the water.

 

Streetmouse made a distressed noise at the loss, sitting on the dock and really, unable to get up. Knowing his companion wasn't going to go diving in for it, Junkrat slipped off the dock with a long sigh. "Awlright, awlright, I'll get yer hat, just hold on a second." Junkrat landed in waist deep water, and gently tried to wade out to the hat. However, the move he moved for the hat, the farther it floated away. "C'mere, y'bastard." He grumbled, reaching for the hat and watching it continue to drift away. He was starting to reach chest deep water, and Roadhog could see he was getting a little uncomfortable with the depth, considering how he tried to keep his arms above water.

 

Part of Roadhog started to realize he'd never seen Junkrat really _swim_ , and just as he was thinking that, the other Junker seemed to put his foot down wrong. His hands went in the air in an attempt to regain balance, and then his head went under water. They didn't see anything for a few seconds until he resurfaced several feet farther out, obviously unable to stand in the deep, deep water and distressed by it. He didn't stay up long, and as he went under again Roadhog was moving for the shoreline.

 

Shoes? Shed, off with them, too heavy. Pants also shed, as denim was weighty when wet. He shed the mask, too, because he would need full vision underwater and the small eyeholes would prevent that, and even though for a moment he was blind he was better off that way. With that he waded into the water until he was deep enough to swim, and stuck his head under water to see where his fellow Junker was.

 

He was surprisingly good at swimming, to be quite honest. If they had good waves and a surfboard, he'd be astounding at that too, because growing up near the coast had left him a deft swimmer, even at his weight, and a better surfer. He swam much quicker than he lumbered, movements smooth like a seal underwater, and thanks to many years of training himself he could even see underwater. Junkrat was a ways away, struggling for the surface but unable to create enough push to lift himself. His metal limbs were heavy and he couldn't push himself with one foot and a peg-leg, so he drifted sort of aimlessly to the bottom. Luckily he was good at holding his breath, but even as Roadhog approached, he watched Junkrat's face go fully red, his hands clapped over his mouth, and then instinct kicked in and he inhaled, scattering bubbles everywhere.

 

Roadhog got to him a moment later, hoisting Junkrat's back onto his shoulder, and headed for the surface. He breathed out - and his lungs _hurt_ , hurt like _hell_ , because there was so much dust in the air he was almost better not breathing underwater - and reached for the hat, which he pinpointed as he was surfacing. He couldn't see anything, the world was far too bright, and his lungs were on fire, but he sort of knew the direction of land and headed that way. Luckily he was right, and he hit water he could stand in soon, moving until he didn't feel water on his feet and unloading Junkrat from his shoulders, dropping to his own knees. He'd help the other once he could breath himself, because his lungs were struggling hard to get oxygen and he needed to get his mask back before he passed out on himself.

 

He felt his mask get pressed into his hands and shoved it onto his face, taking a few deep, unsullied breathes through the filters. He could see again, see Streetmouse kneeling there, looking at him with worry, taking his baby hands and pressing them to his face like he was putting a mask on before giving Roadhog a thumbs up. Roadhog gave him a grunt back, but it was an affirmative one. He could breathe again, though his lungs still burned and he fought the urge to hack them back up with every in breath. He then turned to Junkrat, who was laying on the sand, arms sprawled out. He wasn't breathing.

 

Two big meaty hands pressed on the other Junker's chest, a gentle push for something so large, a few presses at a time, and after a second the younger Junker started to cough. Junkrat rolled onto his side, hacking up the water in his lungs, chest heaving painfully. Once he'd finished, he looked up at Roadhog with a sincere expression of gratitude. "Hooley dooley. Thanks heaps, mate. Thought London t'a brick I'd drown there." He chuckled, but it was weary, and he leaned back on his good hand. "Felt like a shark biscuit gone over." He laughed again, this time one of relief, only stopping when he felt small arms around his chest. Streetmouse had gotten up and wobbled over on shaky legs, falling to his knees as he gave the Junker a hug. "Aww, didn't think y'cared that much 'bout ol' Junkrat." He grinned. Streetmouse nodded, pulling away to crawl over to Roadhog. He reached up with both hands from his knees, a child asking for a hug. "Go on then, Roadie, give it a go." Junkrat encouraged, and Roadhog conceded to the hug after a moment. It was brief, and when the child let go he plopped the wet hat on his head, pressing it down with a large hand and earning a giggle.

 

"Think this 'bout does our walk, don't it?" Junkrat joked, brushing the water out of his hair. Roadhog nodded - he needed to go see Mercy himself, because his lungs still burned and she had the kind of medication he would need to calm them back down - and started to collect his clothes, taking his shoes in one hand rather than putting them on. In the other he hoisted Streetmouse up and onto his shoulder, letting the boy ride there comfortably, so Junkrat wouldn't have to take the weight. "I kin lift 'm, y'dill." Junkrat tried to fight the decision, but he wasn't tall enough to fetch the kid from up there without reaching and soon gave up. "Awlright, fine. Now, Streetie, don't dob in anyone what happened, awlright?" He crossed to the correct side to speak quietly to the child, who nodded. "'Spectially the oldies. Ol' Digga 76 would have our dates on the 'earth if he knew what happened." He chuckled, and Streetmouse seemed to take the cue to giggle as well, even if he was having trouble understanding the Junker. Roadhog jostled the boy a little to get his attention and then just held a free finger to his lips, and the boy understood, mimicking the gesture.

 

It was safer if their adventure didn't get passed around as gossip. Mercy was already going to flip, because Roadhog would need to explain that _something_ happened, but he was good at being tactful and not saying Junkrat nearly drowned.

 

When they arrived back at the base, Roadhog let the boy down, and he gripped the big man's hand with his tiny fist, reaching for Junkrat's with the other. Supported by his two surrogate dads, he managed to walk on his own, only needing them to take a little weight off his legs. He'd be ready to walk again in a day or so, Roadhog thought, swinging his arm and the boy along with it. Then he'd be a pain to keep up with. But he was ready for it. He did take care of Junkrat, after all.


	6. Lanmò

It took another week to find a good enough room for training, and by then Streetmouse was up and running on his own. He had a lot of energy, as most young boys of an indeterminate age often do, so everyone was glad to know he was about to start training to take some of that from him. Roadhog was having a hard time keeping up with the boy, and that was saying a lot considering who he associated with. But the boy was small and knew how to hide really well, like he'd been trained to do so. He also refused to speak, only using the small amount of communication Junkrat had taught him in terms of very basic sign language, and wouldn't answer if they asked him about his parents or where he was from.

 

It was just as well and good that Soldier 76 had found an unused underground chamber just below the Watchpoint's main meeting rooms where the boy could train, as it meant they could literally lock them in there and keep both teacher and student contained where they would be found later. Soldier 76 was only partially worried Reaper would try and take the kid and take over the base, as there was too much on the line for Reaper to just not do as he was asked, but the issue was there. Besides, if the kid got out, they'd have even more trouble once he figured out how to turn himself entirely invisible, so the lock was as much for the boy as it was for Reaper. What Soldier 76 found would work perfectly, and he immediately started setting up the area.

 

It was a steel bunker, with a large and hefty door and no windows. The walls were a layer of steel over a layer of concrete, and there was a large lock on the door that made it impossible to open from the outside or the inside if a code was put into the system. Luckily Soldier 76 still knew the ways in and out of the Gibraltar security system, so accessing the terminal was easy, and changing the password was easier. Now only he knew the way in and out of there, so he didn't feel bad leaving the boys alone in it. It was created back during the war as a safe place to hide from nuclear threat, because when they were still a Big Deal, there were a lot of countries that wanted them dead and all of them would have stooped to atomic warfare if they were pushed hard enough. Not even Winston could have survived something as fierce as that, and with the war now off and on, nuclear strikes against one of the main holds of Overwatch were still something to worry about, especially considering their status as criminals. Inside, the place was open and empty, devoid of furniture but big enough to fit a small aircraft, if there had been a door big enough. It was meant to house the entire staff and then some, and it would be perfect for practice.

 

Soldier 76 had spent the better part of that day trying to kit the area out with whatever they would need in the room, and only managed to finish at sundown. He'd transferred over a few training dummies from the main training area, as well as a large assortment of weapons, a few targets, and enough pillows to bury a man alive. Just in case they did actual sparring, he wanted the boy to have a soft landing, even if he did get kicked in the face. There were guns and knives and bows and all sorts of things, just no bombs. He thought it would be bad practice to include bombs considering what happened to the kid.

 

"Looks like this place is really goin' off." He hadn't noticed or heard the younger Junker appear in the doorway until he spoke, and this gave Soldier 76 a good scare. He nearly shot the poor bastard with the pistol he was carrying in, but he managed to restrain himself in time. Junkrat was surprisingly quiet on his one peg, and after the split second of sheer terror, he took the reaction in stride. "Didn't mean t'startle ya, cobber. Jus' tryin' t'get the lay 'a the land 'fore th'little anklebiter gets in here." He shuffled into the room, watching as Soldier 76 tried to continue working, laying out the various weapons by type and size. Pistols, shotguns, semi-atomatics, knives, swords, throwing stars - he literally had every conceivable thing the kid could be good at or with, including a few weapons that would probably dwarf the poor thing in sheer size. "Y'plannin' on teachin' 'm how t'use all this stuff, or y'just gonna throw fuck all at th'wall n' see what sticks?"

 

"I'm not teaching him." Soldier 76 didn't look up as he spoke, mostly because he knew the Junker's face wouldn't be something he wanted to look at right then. He was right - Junkrat went from slightly open mouthed confusion, to nose crinkling in mild disgust in about ten seconds. He opened his mouth to speak, probably to tell the other this was a bad idea, but Soldier 76 started talking again before Junkrat could get words out. Junkrat was already starting to assume things, so the older man might as well make sure any negative feelings were at least rightfully placed. "I've... _hired_ a specialist. Reaper is coming in as a mentor."

 

Junkrat was slightly caught off guard, but not for long. He knew two things about Reaper: that he worked for Talon, and that he kind of wanted Overwatch dead and burning. Neither of these ideals seemed to jive with _teaching children_ , of course, and after the split second of surprise, Junkrat melted back into being _livid_. He looked ready to explode, face red to the ears, and when he spoke again he spoke so fast Soldier 76 had a hard time picking out the _normal English_ words he used, let alone the Australian slang ones.

 

"Whaddya mean _ya hired a specialist_? I thought you were 'spposed t'be givin' this teachin' thing a fair go, not pullin' in some yobbo fruit loop! Y'know he wants t'kill us all, 'n you bring 'm in here like it's no worries! Pigs arse, there's no drama! I don't give a fuck--"

 

"Junkrat, look--"

 

"--if he's yer digga buddy or if he's actually some grouse bloke, I'm not lettin' _my boy_ , ya know, the one you said _I_ was in charge of all way back when, not lettin' my little anklebiter 'ssociate with no ratbag, ocker hoons, Buckley's chance 'o that! Ya got kangaroos loose in th' top paddock there--"

 

" _Junkrat_ \--"

 

"--or y'just a fuckin' dipstick? Ya made a big blue 'o this, ya bounce, so I'm gonna take m'boy 'n bail right out o' this rooted mess 'fore I haveta see what th' bloody _fuck_ y'think was gonna happen, allowin' some dickhead, mongrel, date eatin' _show pony_ \--"

 

" _Junkrat_!" Soldier 76 had to resort to raising his voice, and only then did Junkrat finally shut up. He looked a little wounded and more than a little mad, but he was at least quiet, and Soldier 76 could finally get a word in edgewise. "It's going to be fine. Ga-" He paused, the thought of the shotgun at his throat making it tight for a moment, and he had to swallow the feeling to keep talking, "-- _Reaper_ was part of Overwatch once. He's not a bad person, he's just..." Misunderstood? That was hardly the word for it - he _did_ really want to murder Overwatch and specifically Jack. But he wasn't _dangerous_ , just focused, and as long as he didn't go back on his word they'd all be fine. "I made him a deal - he gets something he wants and he does this for us. He trains the boy and then leaves him here with us. He's the only person I know who could really _help_ the boy. I've never had powers like that and neither have you, but Reaper does, and he knows how to control them. He's all we have."

 

"What didya give him?" Junkrat shifted forward, hands in his pockets, mostly wounded now. It was hard to be angry at the other when the old man sounded so _beaten_ by all this. Junkrat could sense the hesitation in his voice, the defeated, backed into a corner tone of someone who had no other choice but to give in to the thing that no one wanted to do, and he felt a little bad for his tirade. Not _all_ that bad, of course - Reaper was still a shithead as far as the Junker was concerned and he was going to stay and keep an eye on the fucker the whole time just to be sure - but at least a little bad. His anger was just directed at the wrong person, though it seemed Soldier 76 expected the tirade all the same. "Seems like a bonza deal, gettin' a member of Talon out here t'train yer new little monster, only t'leave 'm here when 'es all done. 'Specially if he puts real effort into it 'n all that - so whatdja give 'm that's worth all that?"

 

Soldier 76 turned to Junkrat, and the tilt of his head meant he was smiling a little under the mask, but his brows and shoulders said he was sad. "It's nothing you have to worry about, Junkrat. What I gave him was personal, and that's all I really want to say."

 

"Y'sound like y'gave 'm everythin' ya got." Junkrat stepped forward, putting a hand on Soldier 76's shoulder. Junkrat was taller, and it felt a _little_ weird for Soldier 76 to look up at the other, but he tried to keep eye contact all the same. Junkrat was trying to comfort him, and while the Junker didn't know exactly what Soldier 76 did give up to get this to work, the comfort was close enough to home to feel nice.

 

"That, and much more." There was a chuckle, and then Soldier 76 backed away, leaving Junkrat standing on his own. "You should go fetch the child. I'll just finish up here." He nodded, giving the other a wave to leave, and Junkrat did as he was told. The Junker could tell the other needed a moment to be alone, and knew when it was better to just let someone keep to themselves. Soldier 76 watched him go, before turning to the table to try and rearrange the weapons there. It felt like a exercise in futility, but this whole mess had started to feel that way anyway, so it wasn't much different. Every day was bringing Soldier 76 a step closer to the end, and he was starting to accept his fate. At least something good would come out of it.

 

"You didn't have to defend me." The deep gravel voice startled him, and he turned sharply, like he wanted to swing out with his hand but caught himself halfway through the motion. Reaper had slipped into the room just before Junkrat had arrived, and was currently standing in a back corner. Neither of them had noticed the shadow in the corner, so he listened to the whole thing. He'd heard every word Junkrat had said about him, and while he didn't understand a lot of it - most people didn't, honestly - he understood the tone. He knew when someone was angry at him, and from the tall and lanky Junker it was almost funny. He approached Soldier 76 slowly, purposeful steps across the steel floor, making them echo loudly. "You could have just told him what you did."

 

"No, I couldn't have." Soldier 76 stepped away from the table, crossing his arms across his chest. They had a few minutes where they could talk relatively undisturbed, but he spoke quietly all the same, like he expected Junkrat to come bounding silently in again. "You heard what he said about you, and he barely knows you. That's his son now." He stepped forward, getting closer to Reaper, feeling the cold emanating from the other's body - it was new, something he didn't feel the night before, something he couldn't have felt in the cold of the other night. "I'm not going to tell him you're going to kill me. It'll just get them all killed - he's too addled to understand some things need to be done."

 

"No wonder they call you their father. You're already deciding what they shouldn't know without their input." Reaper hissed, and his tone was goading, egging Soldier 76 on, but the other didn't notice, because he was falling for the taunt. Being the unofficial "dad" of the group rather than their leader was a role he found himself suited for, and part of his brain snapped a little at the mockery of the title. How _dare_ he walk in here and try and say that Junkrat should know these things, or that Soldier 76 was acting out of line. He wasn't just protecting the Junkers, he was protecting _everyone_.

 

"You want me to tell them what I gave up? They'll kill you, or they'll die trying. Junkrat's barely stable, addled by radiation and far too happy to put bombs on everyday items, and considering his tirade I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to hunt you down the moment I mentioned it. And if he doesn't succeed, his buddy won't let it go lightly - he's already not picky on who he kills for fun. And what happens if they try and kill you, and they don't live? It means the deal is off, it means the kid can just go with you and it means I'll probably die anyway trying to save him." Soldier 76 tried not to let his voice rise as he spoke, but he couldn't help it. He was getting a little too riled up at the idea that Reaper was trying to goad him into getting everyone killed anyway, and his tone didn't seem to affect the other. Reaper was just watching, silent as death, and when Soldier 76 finished, there was only a small chuckle.

 

"And it's that attitude, _Morrison_ , that ruined everything you worked for." Reaper whispered, obviously a little proud that he managed to get the other so worked up over the topic, and oh, that hit a little home. It was one thing to try and talk Soldier 76 into getting everyone killed, but to say that his tendency to withhold information was the reason Overwatch died was _too far_. "You like your secrets, and you already know what happens when someone finds them out." Reaper had a smile in his voice, a sickly sweet teasing purr that knew what Soldier 76 was going through, and the old man barely stifled his own anger.

 

"You don't think maybe it was your childish attitude that caused it, _Reyes_? You couldn't go twenty minutes without trying to cite how it was _unfair_ , what they did to you, and you don't think that maybe contributed to everyone disbanding?" Soldier 76 threw the accusation back at Reaper, all fire and froth and wanting to take him down just one god damn stair step from his perch, and for a moment there was a stalemate. Reaper didn't think he'd be getting any back that he gave, so the commentary caught him off guard, made him bristle and puff up because how _dare_ he, how dare he call Reaper _childish_ , and Soldier 76 didn't think he would silence the other so quickly, not without a fight or a retort or something else that Reaper would use to keep his emotions hidden behind the mask he always wore. There was a hot, tense moment where neither moved, just stood there, both with raised hackles and fists, breathing in but not out. Of course, both of them knew that Overwatch disbanded not because of just one thing, but of one thousand things all coming to a head at the wrong time - their relationship dissolving in a violent show of explosives, the accusations from the media, the feelings of the others as everyone realized what was happening - it all came together all at once like a show of fireworks, and then, with a whisper and a bang all at once, it was over. But neither wanted to accept that they had a part in it, that they were to blame, not when the other was right there to just sit down and take it.

 

"You think this is a _game_ , Jack?" Reaper closed the gap all of a sudden, a rush of cold amid the hot tension, shotguns out and raised in a fluid motion. "I can end this deal any time I want. I'm only doing this to _humor_ you, and I can stop at any point. You don't have that luxury, so tell me, is this the battle you _really_ want to fight? Because you _will_ lose." Reaper shifted the weapon up, pressing it under Soldier 76's chin, lifting it with the weapon and making the other look up even though they were the same height, and for a moment, the old man stiffened in fear. Reaper was using the deal to make sure he was right, and while that was cheating, while that was underhanded and dirty, it wasn't _against the rules_. But Soldier 76 had accepted he'd die, and part of him realized Reaper may have been bluffing. Calling him on it would either mean he'd die, here and now, and Talon would get either a dead teammate or an untrained, impossible to read child, or he'd live.

 

"Fine then. Kill me." Soldier 76 put a hand on the weapon, preventing the other from pulling it away, and shoved it under his chin. He held it there, pressed hard, almost a little choking, waiting for it. "If you're so keen on ending this, then just _do it_." He closed his eyes, breathed out, and wished for a painless death, but nothing happened. Reaper was shaking, pushed to the limits he didn't think he'd reach too quickly. He didn't want to kill Morrison like this, not when the other was begging for it, not when he _wanted it_. He'd get more satisfaction from _taking it_ , and now it was being freely given and Reaper didn't want it. He didn't pull the trigger, shaking with rage and the sheer insolence and spite he was being given instead of fear. Soldier 76 shoved the gun away after a moment, a little satisfied that he called the correct bluff, hands in his pockets so the other wouldn't see he was shaking from terror.

 

"If you're not going to kill me, then stop using it to scare me. Either do it or stop bluffing." Soldier 76 was being spiteful and he knew it, but he could tell Reaper was just as furious as he was afraid. He nearly jumped when the other reached out, a gloved, taloned hand wrapping itself around the old man's throat. For a moment, he choked, Reaper pressing his face in close.

 

"Don't. Underestimate. Me." Reaper punctuated every word in the phrase like he was calling on death itself. Soldier 76 shivered at the touch, coughed at the pressure on his windpipe, and then it was gone. The hand left, and he was standing on his own, facing down the wraith of a shadow of a friend he used to have. Reaper stared him down under the mask, the owl eyes unblinking and sharp. There were no more words, not for them, not then, so Soldier 76 took his cue, hearing the others heading down the hall, and left. He kept his head held high, his shoulders square, his mask on, even as he passed Junkrat and the boy in the hall, even as they asked if he was alright and he waved that he was fine, even as he found himself in the upper levels and right up until he found himself a corner alone.

 

And it was there he sank to the floor, back against a wall, and let himself shake. Shake and fight back uneven breathes and try not to cry.

 

He wasn't ready for death yet. He didn't think he ever would be.


	7. Kouto

"What's eatin' him?" Junkrat was curious as soon as he got into the training room. He'd seen Soldier 76 basically _storm_ past, all purposefully squared shoulders and purposefully high held head like he was about to break down any given second and was fighting the urge to simply collapse. He had the look of someone on the last leg home from a terrible war, who had to hold it together five more minutes before they reached the end of the road. He was concerned, but also knew not to bother - Soldier 76 was a private person and he knew the old man didn't like to be bothered with that kind of thing. Besides, he also knew that Soldier 76 would come to him when he was ready, and any bothering would only delay that further. Also, Junkrat didn't want to leave Streetmouse alone, not when he knew who was in the other room.

 

"I couldn't tell you." Reaper's voice was far more breathy than Junkrat had expected, and the Junker felt the child duck behind his good leg at the sight of the man. Tall, shorter than Junkrat but much taller than the boy, wrapped in black and red and mask on his face, he looked like a menace. Like death wrapped in shadows come to visit them. The boy was shaking, afraid, and Junkrat put an absent hand on the boy's head. "You must be the Junker." There was an edge to Reaper's voice, that imperceptible breath of anger left over, and Junkrat tensed. The boy could feel it, and he pressed his hand down a little harder.

 

"'M not just _the Junka_ , 'm the boy's father." Junkrat said, proud and loud and defensive. He had claimed the title of the boy's father after two days, once they found out the boy didn't seem to have one, or at least one he talked about often. A fatherless boy like that, Junkrat thought, needed a father figure, and he happened to consider himself a mighty fine one. Of course that made Roadhog the mother, which was a weird reversal that left Junkrat tickled pink, but Roadhog knew not to press the Mother status on the young Junker all things considered. The boy didn't seem to mind being fathered by the two, or mothered, and that set alright with them.

 

Reaper approached the taller, and Junkrat tried to straighten up so he could tower like a good and proper scary and protective father would. Reaper huffed a little under his mask, crossing his arms. "Well, you can leave the boy with me then." He tried to get Junkrat to run along, because as far as he was aware, this was going to be something he did one-on-one with the child. That way, he could really extract every last ounce of talent the boy had - he couldn't do that with an audience, because the process was painful and looked like torture. Looking back on what they did to him, he could tell exposing the _father_ to that kind of training would make them all regret making the deal. But Junkrat didn't budge, only pursed his lips ever further.

 

"Nah, mate. 'M stayin'." Junkrat had a smug smile on his face, crossing his arms. The height made Reaper much less scary. "Kid's deaf as a doornail, can't talk fer shit, y'd be rooted here by yerself with that mask on yer ratbag mug." Junkrat nodded along as he spoke, and of course, he was right. Reaper growled a little, soft and low in his throat, because he couldn't fight the feeling that he was being set up, that Junkrat would ruin their training. But this wasn't that much of a setback - he'd trained people in more conventional ways before. It would just take much longer.

 

"Fine." Reaper growled, and with a little hesitation, he removed his hood and then his mask. He still wore a beanie on his head - he got cold easily these days and he needed it to keep him warm under the hood - but otherwise he was plain faced, and Junkrat didn't know what he expected. Reaper was dark skinned, a chocolate caramel color, but it was gray, like death, like powered chalk over the surface. His eyes were light, but without brightness, dull and empty and nearly gray. Part of his cheek shifted dark, slowly and all at once at the same time, and there was a dark smoke there and underneath the smoke was just bone and sinew and no flesh, like he'd had the part burned off. "Here. My mask is off. Can you leave?"

 

"Not on yer life." Junkrat shrugged, proceeding to ignore the irate look he was getting from Reaper to bend down to the child. He was good at ignoring irate looks from people, mostly Roadhog. "She'll be right, there, Streetmouse. He's just a lair tha's hurtin', like th' rest o' us. He's gonna teach ya how t'control yer stuff." Junkrat put both hands on the boy's shoulders, nodding along, and the boy began to nod along with him in understanding, though it still had that little bit of fear. "Sides, ol' papa Junkrat's gonna stick around, keep me eye on ya." Junkrat leaned in, focusing one eye in particular on the boy like he was looking through a spyglass, and the boy giggled, fear abating. "He tries t'hurt ya, gonna kick his nuts so far out his mug he'll turn inta a squirrel." The boy giggled again, and that was all it took to get the fear out of his face. With a nod, Junkrat stood, ushering the boy forward. "Now, intraduce yerself t'the big man."

 

Streetmouse made a slightly complicated gesture that was mostly a swiping motion, followed by placing his closed baby fists on his head like ears. Reaper squinted in confusion, and the shadow shape shifted up his cheek to his cheekbone near his ear. The skin where it had been was fine, nd the skin where it moved to was mostly bone instead. "What's that supposed to mean?" He asked, because he'd had friends long, long ago that spoke sign language, and he figured the boy spoke real sign language or something close, but what the kid was _actually_ doing was some weird approximation of what sign language would have probably looked like when it first started as a language and no one understood what it was.

 

"'E _said_ 'is name's Streetmouse. Gave it t'm meself." Junkrat snapped imaginary suspenders, looking proud of himself. "Won't tell us his real name."

 

"Alright." Reaper bent down, so he was as close to eye-to-eye with the kid as he could get, and when he was down there he slipped off his gloves, leaving his hands exposed. He signed as he talked, because he knew a few things in sign language, nothing more than the basics and a few swear words, but enough to introduce himself. "My name is Reaper." He pressed a hand to his chest, and then tapped his fist twice with two fingers, before holding his palms out - one up, one down - and flipping them over in an arc. The child seemed fascinated, but watched his lips as much as his hands. He nodded, trying to copy the signs, only replacing the third with his own variation on his name. "Good." Reaper grinned, and it was unsettling as much as it was kind. "Maybe soon we'll get you learning real sign language."

 

"What we got here is real." Junkrat interjected, crossing his arms. "Considering none of us know ass-t-ankles 'bout sign language, we did a bonza job." He nodded, ignoring the look Reaper gave him, one of skepticism and doubt wrapped in being completely done. He looked down, watching as the child wandered over to the table. It was taller than he was, and he had to reach a bit, but he grabbed a paper target and a pen Soldier 76 had left behind, flopping to the floor. His handwriting was messy, the scrawl of a young boy who hadn't spent much time on his penmanship, but he held it up in pride when he was done.

 

_My real name is Dejone. I like being Streetmouze._ It was sloppy and weird looking, but Junkrat nodded as he took the paper, looking at it with outstretched arms like a proud father. "De-jion." He tried, and it sounded not quite right, but he nodded anyway because that was the best he could do. The boy stood, reaching up to point a the second sentence, the indication that he would rather be called _Streetmouse_ , with the slight implication that Junkrat was saying his name wrong. "Good oil, mate, nice t'know." He nodded, putting down the paper and reaching out his hand for a proper handshake. "Real name's Jamison Fawkes, nice t'meetcha." He shook the boy's hand, and then looked up to Reaper expectantly.

 

"No." Was all he got in response, which was exactly the opposite of what Junkrat wanted from him.

 

"Oi, come on then, don't be a whacka, give 'm th'drum." Junkrat stood fully, giving Reaper a playful smack to the shoulder. He didn't realize from the set of Reaper's jaw how close to having his good arm taken off he was, but even if he did he probably wouldn't have cared. He could do without the other arm. Eventually, Reaper realized the death stare wasn't really doing much, and he sighed, the sigh of a parent about to do something they don't want for the sake of pleasing a child.

 

"Fine. Gabriel Reyes." He spat the name like it left a bad taste in his mouth, like he hated every moment he had to spend lingering on who he was. He didn't want to be known by that name, but the grin he was getting from the Junker was the kind that was glad he made this part easy, because doing that the hard way wouldn't have been fun for anyone. He was starting to realize Junkrat could be a right piece of shit if he really wanted to be, and it was probably safer in the long run to not have him attempting something stupid, probably with explosives. "Can we _move on_?" He growled, a second later, and after a moment of no objections, he took it as a sign to take the reins of the training session before it went off course again. "Alright, kid. What can you do?"

 

The boy thought for a minute, before miming something that looked like fishing. Junkrat, satisfied that his son was getting along swimmingly, grabbed a few pillows and hunkered down on the side wall, content to commentate from the sidelines. "Fishing?" Reaper guessed, and got a nod in response. With that in mind, he approached the table - Soldier 76 had gone all out with the kit here, and he could probably blow a hole in the middle of a nice sized city with the amount of weapons there - and pulled a few small knives of various shapes off it. Most of them were made to be cutting knives, some of them pocket knives, but none of them were throwing knives, much to Reaper's dismay. If the kid was good at fishing, he probably had a decent throwing arm, and most of the ballistic weapons would be too big or heavy for the kid to handle. He handed the boy one of the knives, putting the others on the floor by his feet, and crossed to the target dummies, setting up target on one of them and wheeling it to the center of the room. "Alright. Give me your best shot."

 

He didn't realize the kid wouldn't hesitate, and ducked the first missed shot by a fraction of an inch. It actually left a small cut on his cheek, and he chuckled slightly, pressing a hand to the bloody mark. The kid's arm _was_ pretty good. He managed to step back before the second shot, also a miss, hit him in the arm. The kid kept trying, and his arm was strong, but his aim was always just off. Either the knives would sail past the dummy, clattering uselessly to the floor, or they'd hit the dummy with the handle part, bouncing off. What he really needed was a few solid throwing knives, but as far as Reaper knew they had none. They would have to get him a few solid knives to throw, but for now, he would have to make do.

 

After trying all the knives and realizing the boy was having a hard time hitting the target, Reaper changed tactics. He took the target off the dummy and taped it to the floor a few feet back, moving the dummy out of the way. "Try this, kid." He gestured to the target on the floor. Of course, Streetmouse was perplexed for a few minutes, before realizing what the change was supposed to help with. It was now less hitting a target that was much taller than him, and more hitting a fishing target. The first throw was off, just slightly, but the second throw was better, and hit the target straight on. Junkrat, from his corner, where he'd taken his own leg off and started to play around with the joints, cheered loudly at the success, a boisterous "Good onya, mate!".

 

"Right." Reaper couldn't help but smile a little, because they were about to make real progress, and he was almost a little proud of his new student. Of course, the boy was hard to communicate with, and he really _hated_ having his mask off, but he wasn't impossible. There was real promise and real talent in the boy, and with the hat and the winning, proud smile on his face Streetmouse almost looked a little like another young boy he used to know. One he trained back in Blackwatch, one with a love of large hats and a lot of talent. He shook his head, breaking from his own thoughts, to move the dummy back in the line of fire - this time, halfway between the target and the boy. "Aim for the target. Don't worry about the dummy."

 

The next shot hit the dummy right in the chest, and the boy nearly screamed in joy. He threw his hands up in the air and jumped around like a excited young puppy, far too elated that he made a solid hit so soon in his practice. "Do that again, and don't stop until you don't miss." Reaper said, crossing his arms in a little bit of pride. The kid was good - a strong arm, a good aim. He just had a hard time figuring what to aim at, considering he was usually using that arm to cast a line and not throw a blade. He'd train up really well, and once they got him good with defending himself, they'd start on the more recent skills. But every student has to start at the basics.

 

He stiffened when he felt an arm on his shoulder. Junkrat was deceptively quiet when he wanted to be, and was leaning heavily on Reaper's shoulder. The Junker gestured to the kid with his pegleg - that explained why he was leaning - with a grin on his face. "Ya like him, don'tcha? Gotten yerself 'ttached t'the lil' anklebiter, eh?" He grinned, a goofy, knowing grin, and Reaper shifted to the side, expecting him to fall to the floor. But Junkrat knew his own balance, and simply adjusted his reach, hopping the two feet Reaper had moved to lean on him again. "Admit it, y'like teachin' the kid." He used his metal arm to rib Reaper gently in the side, earning a grunt in return.

 

Yes, okay, fine. He liked teaching the kid. But in the end, he was getting his reward, and he was ready for that moment just as much as he was proud of the kid. Even if Soldier 76 wasn't.


	8. Po Bouch Ou

He wasn't exactly sure how they'd managed to do it, but they had.

 

It was evening, but still hot, the Dorado sunset pouring down on them, and all five of them were relatively enjoying themselves. Five being the group of Junkrat - in a crop top, shorts, baseball cap and terrible single sock choice, sporting a rather fresh black eye - Roadhog - wearing sturdy military grade sunglasses and a medical mask over his face because he couldn't breathe the Dorado air but Junkrat had still convinced him to leave the gas mask behind as only Junkrat could - Streetmouse - dressed as usual, with shoes this time - Soldier 76 - sans mask and goggles, but dressed more like a dad than the rest of them - and surprisingly, _Reaper_ \- without a mask, or a hood, in normal albeit dark clothes and darker sunglasses.

 

They'd managed to basically make a Parent Trap scenario out of the whole mess. It had taken some canoodling, some begging, some ribbing, a few puppy faces - not just from the boy - and at least one healthy bribe on Reaper's end - which ended in Junkrat's shiny new black eye - to get them all out there in an agreeable fashion, but they'd done it. See, Junkrat figured, having seen how both other man interacted and how terrible they were at it, that all they needed was a little excuse to get out and have some rest and relaxation. So he'd rounded up the entire group and gotten them all out to Dorado, all dressed like normal people just trying to have a good time.

 

They stopped by a few shops, looking in a few windows, and had wandered for a little less than an hour. Reaper still hadn't spoken the entire time, head down, black smoke trailing from his lips occasionally. Soldier 76 had spoken, but mostly to the Junkers, and occasionally to the child. He looked like he wanted to speak to Reaper, and several times he looked like he would start a conversation, but he always stopped himself before he did. After the second time it was almost a little painful to watch, because every time he'd move to speak, Reaper would find something to distract himself farther off.

 

Roadhog looked to Junkrat with a face that said that just because they were out and about, it didn't mean they'd get any better at talking. Junkrat had to agree, but at least little Streetmouse was enjoying himself, running around like a young child should, playing with a plastic pistol they'd stolen for him - without anyone seeing - that was more his size. And even with the awkwardness and the silence, it was a nice evening, empty and quiet, serene even. The red and tan stucco, brick walk ways, calming fountain; it was a nice change of pace.

 

It didn't last very long.

 

Junkrat's hand shot out, catching the boy's shoulder mid run with surprisingly accuracy. He pulled Streetmouse in close, tempted to cover the boy's eyes but deciding against it. Streetmouse, confused at first, latched onto the arm around his shoulders once he saw what had made everyone stop in their tracks.

 

It was an Omnic, or what was left of one. It was curled up in the street corner, missing a few limbs, wires sparking balefully, the glow of its eyes soft but still there. Soldier 76 immediately approached it, pressing a hand to its face plate, turning its head over in his palms. Streetmouse looked up at his fathers, seeing the anger on Junkrat's face, the twisted bitterness there, and seeing Roadhog's posture turn sour with hatred. He was confused, too young to know, and he tugged on Junkrat's arm in question. "'S an Omnic." Junkrat nearly spat the words out - he had a long history with them, sullied and uncertain, and while he worked with them on occasion, they were like the terrible coworkers he had no choice in working with. "They're robots. Tried t'take over th'world, one point. Rooted ol' Oz up, us too."

 

"There was a war. Omnics and people." Soldier 76 knelt there, staring at the face staring back at him, shoulders a dejected slump. "Not all the omnics wanted it, not all of them had a choice, and we tried to make peace after the conflict, but... in some places it never took hold." He sounded bitter about that, almost sad, like everything they did they did for naught. Like his life's work was for nothing but a small amount of scrap metal on the sidewalk. "Some people can't forgive them for what they did."

 

"Serves 'm right." The grumble, deep and loud and angry, came from Roadhog, arms crossed and head high in some sort of self righteous hatred. Soldier 76 turned to look, but there was no anger on his face, no clap back from him, because he understood. He and Reaper both understood that everything they fought for, everything they wanted out of the conflict wasn't enough, that some places just kept on fucking themselves over more and more and nothing they could have done would have prevented that. Some people had a right to hate Omnics, and Soldier 76 wished they lived in a world where that wasn't true.

 

"Roadie had a bad blue with some'a them scrap 'eads." Junkrat bent down to explain, softly. "S'why he can't breathe right. Bloody dick'eads took everythin' they could from 'm, 'n then some." He nodded, almost a little somber at the exchange, a little venom in his voice, and the boy nodded, separating himself from his father. He slowly tottered over, a child experiencing their first dead thing - though this time the concept of death was something he was well aware of, just not outside of himself - looking down at the broken Omnic body with curiosity and respect. He bent down next to Soldier 76, reaching out with one tiny hand to tough the metal faceplate, the gentlest of touches, respectful and soft.

 

The Omnic groaned, a soft, pained noise, which was startling enough to make the boy jump back with a shriek, running into his father's arms. "He's still alive." Reaper spoke, for the first time that night, approaching the body. He toed the legs, and the Omnic groaned again, a broken recording of real sound, a crackle underneath it. He looked around for what could have done the damage, finding a baseball bat lying nearby. "Los Muertos." He murmured - he recognized the calling card of the gang that lived in the area, who liked to beat on Omnics and leave them to die.

 

"He's dying. There's nothing we can do." Soldier 76 stood, looking to Reaper, bat in his hands. There was a moment where their eyes met, and it was old times again, young Jack Morrison looking to young Gabriel Reyes to do the things that needed to be done, because no one else was strong enough to do them. "He shouldn't watch." Soldier 76 turned, gesturing to the boy, and Junkrat tucked the boy's head against his chest, holding it there so he couldn't see. Luckily, Streetmouse had no intention of wanting to see, clinging to his father's chest tightly, afraid. Afraid of the world in which he'd found himself.

 

Reaper hefted the bat, liking the weight, and with no hesitation, brought it down over the Omnic's head. Metal crunched, a sickening squeal of metal on steel, and the Omnic let out a cry. His voice was sad, innocent, the sweetness of someone programmed only to appreciate and not to hate, and hearing it in such pain was heart wrenching. Reaper swung again, and again, and again, the metal denting and crushing and squealing under the bat, the Omnic making soft, low cries. Every time the Omnic cried out, the boy let out a sob, and their voices were so much the same, so much the deep seated innocence without regrets, and it hurt even Roadhog to hear it. He didn't give a flying _fuck_ what happened to the robot - honestly, they were getting theirs as far as he was concerned, they took everything they could from him and this was just the world doubling back on their crimes - but he cared about _Streetmouse_ and he didn't like how they sounded the same.

 

Finally, the lights died from the Omnic's eyes, and it went quiet. Reaper was breathing heavily, the mood now somber, the bat in his hands black with grease. He looked at the bat and then to Soldier 76, who looked back at him. "We should go." Soldier 76 said, softly, breaking eye contact to scan the area. "I didn't exactly make _friends_ with the local Omnic-hating gang the last time I was here, and they're not likely to just let us walk out of here quietly once we're found."

 

There was a distinct rumble of a car in the distance, and everyone froze. "We might be a little late, there, Jack." Reaper chuckled, but it was the laugh of someone who was preparing for the absolute worst. Of course they were a little late on the draw, and of course they were going to get caught in a battle. Something in Soldier 76 snapped to attention, and when he spoke again, he was full of command, his old self standing straight on the battlefield.

 

"We need to find something to arm ourselves. They won't go down without a fight." Soldier 76 looked to Reaper, who had the bat over his shoulders in a _speak for yourself_ kind of way. He then looked to Junkrat, who had fished a handful of grenades and a mine out of his pocket, a look of sheer glee on his face, and Roadhog, who seemed to be perfectly okay just using his fists to break skulls. "Alright, _fine_ , I need to arm myself." He sighed, the ever present sign of someone who's done with everyone's shit, but in a good natured way, in a hurried way. "Junkrat, you and Roadhog go deal with the car, because they'll have a car somewhere for certain, probably a truck - you're better armed for that kind of thing. Reaper and I will handle the scouting party. They'll have broken into two groups to flank us, so be prepared for hand to hand combat as much as vehicle based combat."

 

"Y'hear that, 'Hog?" Junkrat beamed, almost a little manic. "We get t'blow up a car!" He pumped a fist in the air, before leaning down to his son. Streetmouse was watching with a fearful fascination, watching Junkrat's smile twist in glee and realizing that his fathers weren't exactly the most sane or savory people on the planet, and that having them on his side was probably the best place he could be. "Right then, 'Mousey, you go hide. Don't come out 'til y'hear me callin', awlright? Don't want you anywhere close to these mines 'gain." Junkrat ruffled the boy's hat, and Streetmouse nodded, running off on his own and ducking behind an empty stall. Once the child was safely away, Junkrat turned back to his companion, that look of manic expectation on his face. "Let's go blow something up!" Roadhog nodded, and they headed off in one direction, leaving Reaper and Soldier 76 to run off in the other.

 

It felt wonderful, running with Reyes again in the dark alleys of back streets, heart pumping hard in his system. Nothing made Soldier 76 feel younger, more alive, and it seemed it was doing the same to Reaper's mood. He had a smile on his face, one they hadn't seen all day, and kept looking back as they ran, like he was trying to make sure the other could keep up. "Just going to acquire weapons on site, then?" He asked as they rounded a corner, pulling to a halt and advancing slowly. They could hear voices, footsteps, coming around the corner, and they moved with military precision. Neither of them had lost their touch. Reaper was almost a little proud at how quietly the other was able to move, considering how long it had been since they'd been in training.

 

"I figure there's a pistol or two they won't mind me _borrowing_." Soldier 76 grinned a little, heart racing. It was like time was slowing, like he was back then and there all at once, visceral and surreal at the same time. Every touch - cold stone on his hands as they peered around the corner, the cold off Reaper's body, the press of his shoulder as they grouped close like training required, the cold of Reaper's breath on his neck - was a new sensation, a strong one, even the briefest ghost on his skin. He could feel every breath in his lungs, every beat of his heart, but at the same time the world moved in starts and jolts, like he was in some kind of strange dream. He glanced over his shoulder at Reaper, who grinned back, and for a moment he was young again, the boyish face Soldier 76 fell in love with all those years ago, bright eyes and warm skin and cheeky grin. They could hear the men on the other side of the wall, and Soldier 76 picked up a rock, lobbing it around the corner, hearing one approach to investigate the sound.

 

The victim got too close and like a viper, Reaper struck, cracking his skull with the bat. He grabbed the body by the arms and pulled it out of the way quickly, looking to Soldier 76 and tossing the other the pistol the victim carried. He looked at Soldier 76 and he saw the same, the young blond face, strong and handsome, bright eyes and winning political smile, and they were both back there now, both back when they still ran in the war, and it was like every moment of training never left them. They communicated in subtle shifts of shoulders and rolls of heads, tuned into each other's intricate body movements like they knew each other inside and out, and they did. It wasn't Reaper and Soldier 76 standing there to either of them anymore, but Jack and Gabe, two well trained super soldiers trying to prove themselves to the world.

 

Gun in hand, Jack rolled across the street, unseen, and he could _feel_ his old body protest the action but he ignored it, blood pumping too hot in his ears to notice. When they struck, they struck together, like a well oiled machine, and the gang members didn't have a chance. With Reyes on close range, cracking heads, and Morrison behind, keeping the group separated and putting any dying men out of their misery, the two of them sometimes back to back like this was some kind of dance in such close quarters combat, they were unstoppable.

 

An explosion echoed across the sky, the horizon to the north briefly bright and hot and then red and smoldering, and Jack paused to watch. This was his only mistake.

 

One of the last two members broke off and snuck around, and by the time they noticed him, he was on top of them. He went straight for Jack, leaving the other one to Reyes, and Jack was too caught off guard to react properly. He fired, a little wildly, and got smacked in the face a few times with the butt of another weapon for his trouble, and the world swam and he felt himself topple. Reyes, finished breaking the other member's face in with the bat, flew at the last one in a rage, dropping the bat to grab the man around the throat. He was _livid_ , vision red, because no one, _no one_ , got to hurt Morrison but him. It didn't matter if he remembered the deal or not, it didn't matter if they were old or young or there or here or wherever, the only person allowed to make Jack Morrison bleed was Gabriel Reyes and anyone else was going to get a very large helping of Gabe's fist shoved down their throat for the trouble. This member was no different, and the spray of blood when Reyes ripped the man's throat out with his bare hands was satisfying, and he dropped the body, bending down to his friend. Morrison's face was split down the center, his nose broken and lip split and one of his eyes was starting to swell. He groaned, and Reyes grabbed at his face with bloody hands.

 

"Jack, _Jack_ , come on Jack." He hissed, his voice a gravel he didn't recognize in himself in the moment, and after a second he got a chuckle in response, a soft and weak and weary defeated laugh.

 

" _Shit_." Morrison swore, wiping off his face and sitting up. He opened his eyes and found Reyes inches from him, bending over him in the back street, covered in blood, eyes so bright in Jack's mind's eye. "I got distracted for a second - are you alright?"

 

"I'm fine." Reyes grinned, bloody teeth and no one sure if that blood was his. "I didn't get my face cracked open by a rifle." He paused, and in that moment there was nothing to say. They were close, so close, and both of them so high on memory and bloodlust and then suddenly their lips met and it was hot and wet and sticky and tasted of copper and sweat and all Jack ever wanted in life again. He felt reborn in the moment, like this was their first kiss, like it was the only kiss they ever had, like he was a drowning man that had finally found a well spring of water, and his hands found Reye's face and everything was perfect and then suddenly the lips under his were turning to smoke and it was choking and he had to pull away.

 

When he looked back up, he was looking at an older face, gray of skin and smoke of lips and dull of eyes, and those eyes were looking back at him in the same way. Reaper stared at the other, hair white, face scarred, wrinkles around his eyes, and his heart tightened at the sight. He pushed the other away, wiping the blood off his face with a sleeve, because he couldn't _do this again_. He couldn't get back involved, they weren't young anymore, the blood was fading from his head and he could see again and all he could see was what a mistake this all was. He was going to kill Soldier 76 - this was no time for sloppy make outs in a back alley, and even if it was, it changed nothing, it couldn't change anything, he couldn't let it. "No one gets to kill you before I get to kill you." Reaper said it like he needed to remind himself why he jumped on that man, why he tore the man's throat literally out with his hands, and he didn't help Soldier 76 up when he went to stand.

 

"I didn't think you cared." It was sarcasm, like Soldier 76 didn't want to deny the moment that had happened, because denying it would mean forgetting the taste on his lips, and the old man touched them gently to remind himself it even happened, and it wasn't a dream. There was a moment where neither man spoke, and they just stood, blood dripping down Soldier 76's face, down Reaper's face, and after a long moment, Soldier 76 spok again, softly this time. "Sorry." He apologized, because it was obvious the kiss hadn't landed well, and Reaper just huffed, taking the bat and storming back the way they came, barely acknowledging the apology.

 

"Come on, let's go find the kid and go home." He growled, and all Soldier 76 could do was follow. Follow until they reached the square again, follow until they realized they were the first ones back and the child was nowhere to be found. It was like the boy had just vanished into thin air - they called and called and got nothing. They looked and looked and looked, but he wasn't behind a stall, wasn't behind the fountain, wasn't behind a door or in a house or on a ledge. The longer they looked, the more they both started to panic, blood racing in a bad way this time.

 

"He can't have gone far, we weren't gone for that long." Soldier 76 told himself, checking under the stall they saw him go behind again. He still wasn't there.

 

"Maybe if you hadn't made things complicated, we would have been back sooner." Reaper's voice was quiet, like the admission was to himself and not the other, but Soldier 76 heard all the same.

 

"You show back up _years later_ and you act like I'm the one that makes things _complicated_?" Soldier 76 turned, pointing a finger in an accusing manner. "You were the one that kissed _me_." He growled. Reaper closed the distance fast, cursing the fact that they were the same height so he couldn't tower over the other intimidating.

 

" _I_ didn't do _anything_." He growled, low and threatening. " _You_ came and found _me_ , you leaned up and kissed _me_." He was in close again, so close, like a dare, like he was daring Soldier 76 to kiss him again to prove that he didn't start it, but Soldier 76 didn't take it. He didn't start it, either - what neither realized was that they had _both_ leaned in, like magnets drawn to each other, and neither one had initiated it without the other. They stayed like that, for a moment or so, tension high, before Soldier 76 jumped back abruptly, the tension shattering.

 

There was a small tug on his sleeve, but nothing there to tug it. He looked, wide eyed, but found nothing, and then his sleeve tugged again, the fabric moving visibly. After a moment, a hand started to form where the fabric had moved, and then down the arm, and finally the rest of Streetmouses' body, his face scrunched up like he was trying hard. Soldier 76 picked up the child, never minding the blood on his face, elated that they had _found him_ , and would have said something to the effect if they hadn't been interrupted.

 

"Oi, car's gone! So's a buncha those drongos." Junkrat called. He was being carried in on Roadhog's back, his peg leg - shattered and broken - tucked under his arm. "Took out a little bit a' me own leggy, but she'll be apples!" He waved, and it seemed like the two of them had very little trouble otherwise, besides a bit of blood running down Junkrat's face from his hairline and the blood on Roadhog's knuckles.

 

Reaper shifted to stand behind Soldier 76, body and voice like ice, a harsh whisper in his ear. "We're not talking about this again, unless you want to call off the deal. Got it?" He said. Soldier 76 nodded, fully intending to never mention it to Reaper again. But the ghost of the man's lips lingered, and he knew he'd talk about it to _someone_ , otherwise he would forget the taste of the other again, and no part of him wanted that.


	9. Kwazman

" _Sooo_...." Junkrat tried again, shifting slightly closer, much to Reaper's disdain.

 

They were sitting together at the back of the room, watching Streetmouse train. He had started to work on being invisible, and once Reaper had taught him how to harness the ability, it simply became a matter of practicing it. Turning first an arm, then a leg, then the other leg, and so on, until he was comfortable shifting in and out of being entirely invisible on his own terms. Of course, this meant that Reaper didn't have much to do but watch and make sure the boy didn't hurt himself, which left him sitting in the corner with Junkrat. Junkrat couldn't exactly be helpful, since his leg had been mostly destroyed in their Dorado escapade, and had spent most of the morning giving helpful hints while fixing his leg up.

 

Roadhog had been there for a little bit that morning, which was fantastic for Reaper, since he kept the younger Junker occupied, but he had left to go fetch a few things and that left Junkrat alone with the other man. Junkrat had tried to start the conversation about four times, with different variations on throat clearing and iterations of _Sooooo_. Reaper would move to another location, but he'd found that Junkrat was surprisingly mobile with one leg and would follow him around the room, so he'd finally planted himself in frustration. Reaper groaned at the latest attempt, finally acknowledging the Junker's attempts at communication, because if he was going to keep at it they might as well get whatever Junkrat wanted to say out there so he'd finally shut up.

 

"If you want to say something to me, just say it." He growled, and it was supposed to be low and threatening, the kind of voice that makes most mortals wet themselves, but Junkrat didn't seem to be affected by the intensity of it. He was either entirely oblivious, without fear, or really good at just not caring when people were mad at him, and honestly Reaper couldn't decide what was scarier. Junkrat leaned in, a grin on his face, silly and large and full of teeth, the kind of grin that made Reaper uncomfortable.

 

"Don't mean t'get all up in yer bizzo, mate, but th'little anklebiter saw you 'n 76 pashin' right after yer blue with th'gang. Didn't think y'were th' type t'crack a fat fer th'old man, but that's just not m'bowl o' rice. Only reason he gave us th'drum was 'cause he was curious, didn't think 'is Uncles were inta that." Junkrat nodded, and the admission only made everything significantly worse. Reaper took a moment to understand what the _fuck_ Junkrat was talking about, and when it finally clicked, he stared with the kind of face someone has when they've been called some kind of slur - a mix of surprise and unbridled hatred. Junkrat finally seemed to take heed of the face and frowned, like what he had said wasn't _bad_ or anything. "Don't look so gobsmacked, y'bastard! If I was you, I'd be grinnin' like a shot fox. Good onya, bet th'old man's real rapt 'bout it."

 

"He's not. And neither am I." Reaper hissed, and of course that brought Junkrat's new grin right back down into the ground.

 

"Wha'd'ya mean, you're not?" Junkrat said, frowning slightly. Of course, Soldier 76 being way into Reaper explained a lot of things around base, including his storming off when Reaper was in the room and their constant bickering. Of course, Junkrat based it off the fact that he and Roadhog bickered a little here and there all the time, usually about his use of puns, and as far as anyone was concerned back home they were more than married to each other. This didn't exactly hold over to Overwatch standards, but that was fine by them. But to hear that maybe Reaper wasn't excited about their kiss threw him off quite a lot.

 

"He and I have a long history." Reaper shrugged, trying not to get too deep into the conversation topic, but Junkrat seemed hooked already.

 

"Right then, gimmi the drum, I ain't no dobber." Junkrat slid closer. Reaper didn't speak, looking at Junkrat sidelong, like maybe if he just kept his mouth shut the energetic Junker would shut up. But the glare did not deter, and Junkrat shifted even closer. "Right, y'like deals, don'tcha? I'll make ya an offer - you tell me what's up between you and the digga, 'n I'll tell _you_ a secret o' mine. Deadset, no porky, right dingum secret." He nodded, and he had this look of determination on his face, and Reaper knew he'd ask Soldier 76 about it if he didn't get an answer and this was Reaper's one chance to control the narrative. Sure, Soldier 76 seemed still very much into him, but he was very aware the old man was good at twisting stories to make himself look like the good guy. Overwatch wouldn't have lasted as long as it did, considering the accusations.

 

"He and I.... had a thing once." Reaper admitted, after a second. It felt weird to admit it in past tense. "Back when Overwatch still existed legally."

 

"Ya not a thing anymore?" Junkrat asked, leaning on his stump and listening intently. Reaper looked at Junkrat with the most expressive _no fucking shit_ face he could muster considering part of his nose wanted to become smoke. "Ah." It seemed Junkrat was significantly less bad at reading social situations than he put off, because he seemed to understand fairly quickly. Junkrat wasn't really bad at social situations, but he pushed buttons because he knew he could, and he rarely backed down from a social situation because of things like manners, though he respected personal space. "Bad?"

 

"There's a reason Overwatch isn't a legal organization anymore, and it's not because some of the members were criminals." Reaper actually chuckled, because it almost seemed funny in retrospect. Left to his own, Jack probably could have cleaned up the criminal charges mess on his own and Overwatch would still be fully functioning, if a bit wary of what gets put out when. Now Overwatch was a bunch of criminals themselves, with a group hunting their very existence off the map and one of its old members working to finally kill the de-facto leader.

 

"Kin I ask what happened, or is that too much?" Junkrat asked, and he was surprisingly sensitive about the subject. He knew he was pressing boundaries too much, but at this point Reaper didn't care - this was the part of the story he wanted controlled, regulated, told his way and not Soldier 76's, and he sighed. "Y'don't gotta answer, if y'don't wanna. Deal's still on if y'don't."

 

"We started fighting. At first, it would be once a week, then twice. Then every day. He was pushing me away, constantly busy, avoiding me, working constantly." Reaper thought about it for a long moment, and it seemed like it fueled his hatred for Soldier 76 all the more as he spoke. "I confronted him about it in Switzerland, and he had the _gall_ to pull his weapon on me. So I drew on him, but I didn't think he'd shoot me. The next thing I knew, there was an explosion. It's how I ended up like this." Reaper hissed the last word, and like it was on command, his face shifted to almost all shadow and bone, sharp teeth and cheekbones and tongue. Junkrat bristled, backing up in the first fear Reaper had seen out of him since they'd met, real fear, and he chuckled. "He killed me. It felt natural to call that a breakup." He chuckled, bitter and full of venom.

 

"Hooley dooley." Junkrat murmured. He paused a second as Streetmouse approached, appearing from thin air with a smile on his face, and settled into Junkrat's half lap. "Figured y'didn't nut out a deal, considerin' yer face, but t'know y'carked it cause a' him..." Junkrat trailed off, pressing a hand to the boy's head, pulling the hat down on his face. Playing with the kid was almost like a distraction, like he didn't like the conversation being this heavy. "Kin see why pashin' with th'bloke ain't Mickey Mouse." He nodded, looking to Streetmouse as he looked up half expectantly. "Not you, y'little mug." He grinned, prodding the boy with the long part of his peg.

 

"It's complicated." Reaper watched the boy show off how he could just make his arm invisible off and on like a light, nodding along. He was showing good progress - part of Reaper hoped Soldier 76 wouldn't fuck up their deal, so the boy could stay with the Junkers, because while having the talent for his group would be ideal, that part of him didn't want to see such a happy boy get his life ruined like Soldier 76 had done to Reaper. "Now, your part of the deal? A _right dinkum secret?_ " He tried to repeat the words, but they felt weird coming out of his mouth.

 

"Right!" Junkrat nodded, mood picking up. "Y'were gonna end up findin' out anyway, considerin' Roadie's gettin' me meds 'n all, ain't hard t'guess when I shove a needle in me thigh, but I ain't a boy in me down under." He grinned, like it wasn't even that much of a secret, and Reaper squinted at him. Had he just been conned?

 

" _What?_ " Reaper asked, because he wasn't sure if he was mishearing because of the phrasing or if he just had no idea what Junkrat was referencing. At that point, Roadhog came in, and the big man was very delicately drawing a solution from a very tiny bottle - the container was probably an inch and a half tall with a circumference of a dime - with a very tiny needle. It all looked much smaller in Roadhog's hands, but it was all still pretty tiny.

 

"Ye, I ain't got a' old fella. Y'know, a donger. A doodle." Junkrat waggled his eyebrows and made a lewd gesture that only meant penis. "Had tits once, got them lopped off soon as I could. Ain't sure 'ow 'Hog keep's findin' me meds, but I ain't complainin'." Junkrat looked up as Roadhog approached, and he shifted the boy out of his lap. "C'mon, Mousie, papa's gotta get t'his leggy." Once his lap was devoid of child, he reached up for the syringe, looking at it fully. It was full of a clearish liquid with a yellow tint, though it seemed to be more like syrup than water in it. Junkrat flicked a bubble out of the middle and it moved through like there was resistance there. "Wouldn't cark it without 'm, but there'd be hell on earth, that's fair dinkum."

 

"So you're transgender." Reaper finally concluded. It took him a lot longer to process than it probably should have, mostly because he was assaulted with a lot of new information all at once and most of it was in Junkrat's lovely slang that he barely understood. He was, thankfully, at least a little up on what it meant to be transgender, and figured out pretty quickly that at one point people considered Junkrat a girl. It was a weird image, and he didn't like it. "I can't imagine you with feminine features." He said, staring at Junkrat's face like at one point it may have been soft and still not seeing it.

 

"Was a right dog back then." Junkrat nodded, focused on the needle. He shoved it quickly and deeply into his leg, like he barely registered pain, and pulled back on the plunger. Bubbles appeared in the body of the syringe, and, satisfied with the result of that, he pressed the plunger all the way down. "Grouse thing 'bout losin' me leggy s'that I can't feel th'pain 'o th'needle no more." He nodded, pulling the needle out and passing it to Roadhog. The larger man capped it and put it in a pouch on his belt, handing Junkrat a bright pink bandaid. Junkrat noticed the boy was watching with intense curiosity, like he'd never seen anyone give themselves a shot, but he was following all the same. "Y'wanna give papa a pash 'n a sticky, mate?" He asked of the boy, offering up the bandaid. Streetmouse nodded, taking the bandaid and giving Junkrat's leg a small kiss before applying the bandaid over the area of the shot. Junkrat rubbed his leg.

 

"How old are you?" Reaper asked, because he had a question in his head and didn't know if it would be relevant. Junkrat cocked his head to the side, Roadhog sitting down beside the young Junker and pulling the boy into his large lap.

 

"Twenty-six." Was the answer, and Reaper frowned. Junkrat would have still been a child during the war, and as far as Reaper knew, Australia never really got _unfucked_ from the first Omnic Crisis. It was an irritated hellhole since the beginning and still was.

 

"Who did you get to remove your, uh." Reaper paused, making a motion as though he were lifting breasts, and Junkrat laughed at his dislike of saying the words.

 

"Jus' say it, mate. Tits, tittes, boobies, breasts, don't give a shit." Junkrat grinned, and if Reaper could have turned red he probably would have. He was a gay man god dammit, he rarely had to associate with ladies upper parts, and if he did, it wasn't talking about their removal to someone who could be sensitive to it. "As fer how 'n who, found a good doc 'n th'states couple years ago who did right by me titties _and_ me ovaries." Junkrat pointed out the faint scars under his pecs, which were nearly impossible to see under his tan and with the muscle he'd build there, and then an even fainter scar on his stomach. "Didn't pay a lick, got th'best insurance on th'planet." He thumbed back at Roadhog, who gently punched one fist into the other open palm in the universal gesture of _insurance policy_ or, as it was known in the rest of the world, _fight me_.

 

 

"Ah." Reaper actually chuckled a little bit, because the idea of Roadhog and Junkrat threatening a doctor to remove Junkrat's flopping breasts was a fairly funny image. Streetmouse made a motion to get their attention, and then pointed to Junkrat, tugging at his shirt and then making a motion similar to what Reaper did to indicate breasts.

 

"Nah, didn't need no shirt over me titties. Th'bomb vest was enough t'keep'm tied down, ain't nothin' a shirt could do better." He grinned, like this was something to be proud of, and Roadhog laughed a little, guttural in his throat. This was a weird conversation, Reaper decided, and a little too open and personal for his liking. Sure, he didn't mind Junkrat wanting to talk about his issues with being transgender, but at the same time he wasn't exactly their friend - he was about as close to them as a stranger, and he felt he was getting wrapped up in being too close to them with where this was going. "Roadie jus' liked it 'cause he liked me titties out." Junkrat grinned, punching the larger playfully in the knee. "Thought I was some Sheila needed savin' at first, showed 'm real good." Junkrat put his dukes up playfully, and Streetmouse leaned forward to bat them away like a cat.

 

"Right." Reaper nodded, actually smiling a little, and he stood. He felt like he needed to leave before he got attached to any of them, because once his side of the deal was done he was going back to Talon and they were all fair game at that point. He headed for the door, not even going to say goodbye, when the ever mobile Junkrat hopped up onto his one leg and bounced over, catching Reaper by the arm. He growled at the touch, and Junkrat backed off.

 

"Know y'didn't ask fer me thoughts 'r nothin', but y'should get a coldie with 'm. Better than drinkin' with th'flies, 'n a good talk ain't gonna kill ya. Maybe y'kin walk away from this a little less sad, is all." Junkrat nodded, and Reaper turned with a huff. It felt intrusive, Junkrat trying to give him advice on a relationship he didn't want to repair. Like he was getting too much into Reaper's personal business, when they weren't friends.

 

"You're right, I didn't ask." Reaper hissed, putting his mask on, and with a twist of black smoke he was gone, leaving Junkrat standing in their training area, staring at the open door. He shrugged, hobbling back to Roadhog, who was standing, the boy on his shoulder. At least Junkrat tried, and considering their heart to heart, he felt good about the whole thing. Even if Reaper left like an asshole. You can't win them all.


	10. Navige

"Oi, 76!" Junkrat found the old man in the back recesses of the base and called for him. Two days had passed since the heartwarming training session - it had at least been heartwarming in Junkrat's eyes, and no one had seen Reaper to see how he felt about the whole thing - and they hadn't seen Soldier 76 much since the incident at Dorado. He'd been hiding out in the back parts of the base, trying to avoid seeing Reaper during training, and generally avoiding everything so he didn't have to talk about it - it being Dorado, it being the fights they'd had, it being how they didn't get along at all. But, much to Soldier 76's dismay, he'd been found fairly easily when the Junkers actually wanted to look, and they'd cornered him in the back kitchen very early one morning. "Getcha budgie smuggla's 'n come with us!" Junkrat told him - it wasn't a question, but a statement, an order, almost. Soldier 76 looked over the squad that had come to find him, because he had no idea what _budgie smugglers_ were, but at a glance he could figure it out.

 

Junkrat was standing next to Soldier 76 wearing what looked like a pair of swim trunks - bright green, with a yellow smile that looked painted on by hand - and a towel around his neck. Roadhog stood back, Streetmouse on his shoulders, and he, too, was wearing a pair of trunks, as well as a tank top, and in the hand that wasn't supporting the boy he had somehow managed to locate a surf board. _Budgie smugglers,_ then, must have meant some kind of swimwear, which as far as Soldier 76 knew, he didn't own. "I don't have a bathing suit. Besides, I have work to do." He lied, because honestly, he just wanted to keep to himself for the rest of the training. It was a lot easier preparing to die by himself, without any kind of interaction to make him miss life. However, this was not the answer Junkrat was looking for.

 

"'Course y'do, 'n if y'don't, shorts work fine." Junkrat nodded along, not taking Soldier 76's no. "Sides, y've been duckin' out fer days. Roadie's gonna teach th'little shark biscuit how t'swim 'n surf, gonna take th'heli t'the beach, y'should come 'n get away from th'base fer a bit. Jus' you, me, those two, 'n the open ocean. Give it a go, mate." Junkrat nudged Soldier 76 in the ribs, and he sighed. Of course, they were only trying to get him out of the base because they cared about him, and that was obvious. If only he could tell them what his future was filled with, maybe they'd understand why he wanted to be alone, but he also knew he couldn't tell them. That was his burden to bear, through and through. At least Reaper wasn't going to be along - though he knew at some point conversation would turn to the other man.

 

"Alright, let me look." He sighed, heading off to his bunk area, leading the small troupe behind him. His room was small, plain, undecorated and a little messy, the usual layer of clothes and dishes you'd expect from a college age bachelor or someone who hadn't ever learned to devote time to cleanliness. It wasn't disgusting, just a little rough around the edges. He dug through his drawers, and found a pair of gym shorts and a t-shirt he could probably use. They hung around while he changed, and when he emerged from the bathroom, Junkrat had already found a clean towel amid Soldier 76's clean clothes pile. "What beach are we headed to?" Soldier 76 asked as they headed for the helicopter pad, the boy bouncing along happily on Roadhog's shoulders.

 

"Hawaii." Junkrat answered, and Soldier 76 would have had a spit take had he been drinking anything at the time. He balked, and Junkrat noticed the surprise, shrugging at the implied question to it. "Ain't many places with waves big 'nuff t'surf on, 'n one o' th'good ones s'right rooted. Roadie needs t'be able t'breath if 'es gonna teach anyone anythin'." Junkrat grinned. "Best beach we kin access, 'n th'chopper bloke is more 'n willin' t'fly us there."

 

Soldier 76 didn't ask any more questions, because it seemed like the Junkers had gotten it sorted out already and he didn't think he could change their minds. Besides that, a small jaunt to the islands would be nice. They had been nearly cleared out in the first Omnic War - underwater robots had a good ambush point, considering they were surrounded by ocean, and it was hard to get resources there in time. After the war ended, many of the people moved back, but it wasn't a tourist hot spot like it used to have been, so the beaches were calmer and quieter than before. It wasn't a long flight, only a few hours in the vehicles they had for air travel, and there wasn't any air traffic to be wary of these days, and the tiny vacation would be nice. The fresh air would feel good, and being away from the base and any way of seeing Reaper would be nice. Like one last hurrah before the end.

 

The flight was comfortable, and Soldier 76 found himself in and out of sleep most of the way. When he was awake, he would watch Streetmouse climb over their seats and put both hands on the windows to peer out them, excited to see all the earth rolling by under them. But then the world would fade as he slipped back to sleep, because the past few days he hadn't been sleeping well at all. They could probably tell from the bags under his eyes, the way his head dipped while they were in conversation. He slept well, dreamt very little, and it was probably for the best - his dreams were what were keeping him awake, the visions of owls and shadows and the feel of lips on his keeping him up at all hours. He couldn't focus during the day and couldn't close his eyes at night, so the rest was good for him.

 

He woke to pressure on his face, Streetmouse in his lap, baby hands smushing Soldier 76's cheeks together in an effort to wake him up. Opening his eyes got a grin from the boy, and he hopped to the floor, reaching for Soldier 76's hand and tugging him out of his chair. They had, apparently, landed at some point during his final nap, and he stretched as they left the plane. It had landed on a stretch of unused beach on one of the islands, and they were alone on the stretch of sand. The sun was barely above the line of the sea, and the breeze was nice and warm. It would be easy to think that nothing had happened on this beach, with how untouched most of it was. But there was a reminder in the distance, at the end of the beach, a giant sunken Omnic that had powered off while attempting to pull itself onto the beach. Birds roosted in the nooks and crannies of the Omnic's shell, and it was orange with rust. They ignored it, the large reminder of what they couldn't stop, because there was nothing they could do about it now. Roadhog was setting out towels on the sand, surfboard tall against the flat horizon beyond, and he had his mask off and a smile on his face. Soldier 76 hadn't ever seen Roadhog sans something on his face, so it felt weirdly sentimental that they would bring him on a trip where the other felt free enough to take his mask off.

 

Streetmouse ran for the shoreline, taking Roadhog by the hand and dragging him along to the water's edge. He seemed so much happier on the shoreline than at the base, and both Junkers seemed to be enjoying themselves, Roadhog especially moreso than usual. He seemed to really enjoy being in and around the water, and the boy seemed to bring out the best in his usually stoic demeanor. Soldier 76 sat down on the towel, pressing his feet into the hot sand, watching them romp around in the water - Roadhog helping the boy learn to swim and Junkrat bouncing around them like a large dog. They seemed to natural, like a family, truly in their element with the child. Eventually, Junkrat came back to the towel, flopping down in the sand, leaving Roadhog and the boy out in deep water. "You're not going to join them out there?" Soldier 76 asked, watching Junkrat lay down in the sand.

 

"Can't swim worth a lick." He shrugged, making an angel in the sand. "S'apples." He turned onto his side, putting his head in one hand, looking at Soldier 76 intently. "Awlright, here's th'drum. Had a chat with th'show pony th'other day, told me bits 'n pieces." At this, Soldier 76 froze up, because he had _no idea_ what Reaper could have said. Junkrat was in one piece, but there was no telling if Reaper had told them the deal they made or not. Junkrat sat up, shifting closer, onto the towel. "I know how this whole lover's spat deal goes, mate. Wanna give y'a chance t'get yer side out there - figure that ol' ratbag'll twist things inta a pork pie."

 

"What did he tell you?" Soldier 76 bristled, a little uncomfortable, but only with the idea that Junkrat knew what deal he made. The past might as well come out full and true at this point, considering how long he had to live - the boy was getting stronger, so much stronger, and he wouldn't need training forever - but the deal put him on edge. He didn't want them hurting themselves over what he'd done.

 

"Mostly jus' past stuff. Said y'killed 'm." Junkrat nodded, looking at Soldier 76 intently. Soldier 76 sighed, taking off his glasses and visors and laying them on the towel. His face under the mask was sad, soft, like he knew exactly _why_ Reaper said those things. Junkrat couldn't tell if what Reaper said was the truth, or not. "Wanna give y'a chance t'give me th'good oil. Jus' in case he's givin' me a pork pie 'bout it all."

 

"He blames me for a lot of things." Soldier 76 seemed to realize a lot more about how Reaper felt than Junkrat realized he would. "And there were times at which I was at fault. I should have paid more attention to him, but he just..." He groaned, putting his head in his hands, and Junkrat put his metal hand on his back.

 

"Jus' start from th'beginnin', if y'want." Junkrat coaxed, patient and kind. He was incredibly sensitive when he wanted to be. Soldier 76 laid back, staring up at the sun, because the beginning was a far off tale. Laying down, he didn't notice Roadhog come and sit in the sand next to him until he actually flopped to the sand, and the boy laid down next to him in some weird childish solidarity.

 

"We met in a program. It was to make us into superiorly enhanced genetic fighting machines - we were both selected independently - he was a senior officer, I was just a favorite. We felt elite, different, for getting in." He paused a moment, thinking back to that time. He could always remember the day when he realized Gabriel Reyes had a winning smile, because it was the same day he realized he enjoyed being around that winning smile too much to not be a gay man. "I felt different. We formed Overwatch, fought in the war. And then, at some point on the battlefield we just became something... _bigger_ than either of us." He smiled, staring at the bright sky, because thinking of those times brought back something wonderful bubbling in his chest. He loved Reaper back then - Gabriel Reyes was a young man that spoke his mind. He made calls, he jumped to conclusions and was right most of the time. He didn't like lying to save face, and he didn't like playing politics. Part of Jack always wondered why he was so _angry_ that he didn't get to lead Overwatch as a group - he would have _hated_ it, because Jack's job was all politics and the occasional mission. Blackwatch was always better suited to Reye's style.

 

"For a while, it was nice. We were... happy. Under cover, of course, because neither of us could risk being _out_ considering the world at large, but happy. But I think he was resentful, or angry about something, but he wouldn't talk to me - I'd ask him how he was and get only short answers. He'd be more angry on nights when I was forced to work late, so I'd take time off to spend with him, and then be forced to work late again to catch up, and he'd be angry again. We started fighting more often - I think he was pushing me away, getting angry at every little thing. And then one evening he just sort of... snapped." Jack pressed his hands to his face, because he'd never forget Reye's eyes on that night. "He came at me like he was honestly going to kill me - and in my time I've seen Gabe rip people apart, the enhancement did well by him and he was _terrifying_ when he was bloodthirsty - and I couldn't honestly help it, every inch of me screamed not to but instinct made me pull my pistol. So he pulled a gun on me. I didn't think he'd shoot me, and the next thing I know, I'm waking up in rubble. I went back to find him after I patched myself up, but by the time I got there he was just... gone. Vanished." Soldier 76 sighed, looking back up at the sky again.

 

Roadhog grunted softly, and he sat up with a start, not realizing everyone had come to listen to his sordid story. "Roadie's right, mate." Junkrat nodded, looking to Roadhog with understanding. Having heard both sides of the story, they were coming to the same conclusion, and their conclusion is that relationships make people stupid. They would know, of course - they'd been dating in Overwatch's terms since a week after they met, sleeping together since two weeks, and basically married just after that. All unofficial, all informal, but they understood all the same. "Sounds t'me like one big fuck all misunderstandin'." He nodded, and Roadhog put a hand on Soldier 76's back in a weird comforting gesture. "We heard _him_ say you pulled a gun on _him_ , pushed _him_ away, 'voided him with work 'n such."

 

"Maybe he's lying to you." Soldier 76 was a little defensive, but it was understandable, and Roadhog shifted his hand to the old man's shoulders in a gesture meant to quiet the man down. When hands that big get that close to most people's necks, they shut up. Soldier 76 was not an exception. Roadhog nodded, patting the old man's back, a little bit harder than necessary, and Junkrat nodded along.

 

"Y'gotta listen t'Hog there, mate." Junkrat nodded, and when Soldier 76 gave them both the look of confusion, he elaborated. "Yer stories were _real_ close, only difference was blame. We getcha, talkin' ain't easy, 'specially 'tween two blokes raised all funny." Junkrat gestured between Roadhog and himself, and Soldier 76 realized that honestly, they weren't that different. Sure, they were both marked by radiation rather than enhancement, but the Outback probably wasn't any more accepting of their relationship that Overwatch was of Jack's, and as far as he knew, Roadhog could be just as murderous as Reaper ever was, probably even more so. He looked at Junkrat, and he saw himself, and he saw what they _could_ have been - sure, he didn't have Junkrat's devil may care attitude about danger, and sure, the job took time away from him that it didn't do for them, but they weren't all that different. The only big thing was that they talked, and considering Junkrat was constantly reading Roadhog's body language, and vice versa, they talked _all the time_. Every shift in the shoulders and slip of the foot was another code and clue to how they were feeling. Maybe Jack could have included Gabriel in on the job more often - even if protocol said he shouldn't have. Maybe protocol was what made him unable to see how much he was killing them - and it was making it hard for Reaper to see he was just as much to blame.

 

"Talk to him." Roadhog spoke, and it was soft, quiet. He nodded, like that was all he was going to say, standing. He needed to get back to the water, and grabbed the board behind them, carrying it to the water with him. He felt young again like that, carrying a board towards an empty beach, the waves calling him, and the fear abated for a while. Surfing was like some kind of therapy, and he paddled out to deep water, to the point where he could see the bottom but couldn't touch it. They watched him from the shore, and he was so graceful out in the water, graceful on the board, graceful on the waves. Soldier 76 pulled his knees to his chest.

 

"I may need your help." He said, softly, and Junkrat leaned in, because being helpful is all he ever wanted to be. Well that and rich. With pockets full of dynamite.

 

"Jus' tell me whatcha want t'do, mate, 'n I'll do it."


	11. Vire

Streetmouse was coming along swimmingly in training. He could turn completely invisible at will by the end of that week, and after he was capable of controlling it on his own, Reaper decided it was time to move on to more complicated things. This included the boy's ability to turn people a full one hundred eighty degrees. This power was a lot harder to get the hang of. He first started on trying to turn simple dummies, which almost stalled his progress entirely. The dummies were rigid and hard to move, and even after days and days of training, he couldn't get the hang of it. There was at least one evening when he spent most of it curled in Roadhog's arms, crying to himself, because - as he eventually told them, after several unsuccessful attempts to communicate - he felt like he would never get it. Of course Roadhog gave the boy a pep talk in his own way, because giving up was not something he'd encourage in anyone - not giving up had saved his life more than once or twice. They agreed on a deal, and the next night, Junkrat volunteered himself as a substitute, and they found that the issue was not the boy's abilities, but rather, the dummies themselves, much to the boy's relief.

 

Spinning people was much easier, and all three of them quickly realized why. People had faces, and faces pointed directions, and the boy could orient the direction more quickly and more accurately when looking at the faces of the people he was turning. Feet also helped, of course, because feet should only point one particular way, and he could orient which way was the opposite by those two. The issue was that the dummies they had were glorified, slightly mangled dress forms, and had no heads or arms or legs and just wheels to roll around on. This meant in physical practice, they were easy to turn, as they were light and rolly, but they were slightly amorphous in shape and had very little distinct features the boy could lock on to and turn. After adding fake heads to the top of the dummies, the boy was able to turn these, too, with ease.

 

They then had to practice with weight, which was apparently an issue. Turning Junkrat was no problem, as he was a skinny little fuck even with high height, and the dummies were relatively light - but one evening, a few days after discovering the issue, Roadhog volunteered when Junkrat seemed almost a little too sick to keep spinning, and this caused an issue. Roadhog's significant size difference offered a new challenge, because the boy had to get strong enough to move the larger body in the same way he had to train his muscles to lift heavy things. He had to practice with weighted dummies, making them heavier and heavier and heavier, until he was able to shift Roadhog first a little, and then more and more until the larger Junker was completely spun. The boy looked stronger, and a little taller, and both Junkers were incredibly proud of his progress and making it over the long haul, and they let him spin them as much as he needed, even to their own dizziness.

 

It was on the eve of the boy's minor victory, the first time he was able to fully turn Roadhog around - if a bit slow and jerky - that Junkrat decided to instigate his plan. He had, during those days, formulated a plan, and he hadn't told anyone but Roadhog. He'd been thinking, long and hard, since his talk with Soldier 76, and he'd realized that their inability to communicate was most of the problem. Soldier 76 had asked them to help him figure out how to talk to Reaper, but even with encouragement and more than a little snooping about where the other went, Soldier 76 never actually got up the courage to do it. Junkrat had made the connection that the issue stemmed not from Reaper's aggression, but Soldier 76's fear of said aggression.

 

He couldn't have known that to piss Reaper off was a terrible mistake, and a quicker death sentence, but that wasn't anyone's fault but Jack's.

 

So Junkrat had talked to his partners in crime, just after they realized Streetmouse's ability wasn't broken so much as hard to handle. He had, in so many words, asked their help on a little project - if Soldier 76 refused to go talk to Reaper, they would get Reaper to talk to Soldier 76. Of course, this meant getting Reaper to listen to them, but that was most of their plan. They realized, after a few tests, that Reaper couldn't teleport if he wasn't facing the way he wanted to go, and it was hard to walk away from a conversation where he couldn't look away. The boy's powers were at the crux of it, and while Streetmouse didn't exactly understand what he was doing, he was okay with it.

 

"Oi, cactus head, we wanna talk t'ya fer a tick." Junkrat asked, once they were done training. Reaper was slipping his gauntlets back on his arms, his mask half on his face. He turned to Junkrat, a look of anger on his features, because the last time they talked wasn't exactly... the greatest. Sure, he didn't want to kill either of them, and that was a good thing, but he told them a lot of things he probably shouldn't have. He was too close to them sometimes, and he hated that part of him. It was best if they just didn't talk anymore, before he said something he shouldn't. It would be a shame if he had to kill them after all.

 

"No." He pulled his mask on his face, turning to the exit door. The next thing he knew, he was facing Junkrat again. The Junker had his hand in the air, index finger out, having just made a circle motion with it in the air, and the boy had responded thusly. Reaper growled, because he realized this was how they were going to play this, and he didn't like it.

 

"Figured y'd say no." Junkrat grinned, in that insufferable Junkrat sort of way that only Roadhog found anywhere near charming. It was a grin full of teeth, and Reaper wanted to punch them all out. "Got ourselves a lil' insurance, jus' in case y'did." He cracked his knuckles, including the metal ones, and Reaper turned again to leave. Once again, he found he was facing Junkrat before he could take a step, and he put his foot down hard in protest. "Look, I getcha don't wanna have a chat with us, 'n that's _fine_. But right now, it ain't 'bout what _you_ want, y'show pony, so sit yer date down 'n give us a go." He paused a minute, and Reaper didn't move, crossing his arms. He could at least _humor_ the fucks before he ignored everything he said.

 

"Let's take that as a _right-o_." Junkrat stepped forward, hands on his hips. "Gonna keep this short - _talk t'Jack_." Junkrat laid it all out in front of him, literally and figuratively, laying out an imaginary spread with his hands, and Reaper immediately turned away in answer. But they continued to keep him captive, and he was about three seconds away from taking Junkrat's throat in his hands and strangling him.

 

"Why should I?" He growled, and it was deep and dark and the boy shifted to duck behind Roadhog's protective shins. The bigger Junker put a hand on the boy's shoulder in comfort, because it would take a lot of tearing Roadhog apart to get to the boy, and he wouldn't let it happen. He cared about two people in his life now, and Streetmouse had become one of them. The boy was a talented little swimmer, and he saw a lot of his young self in Streetmouse, and while Junkrat had taken the boy on as a son quickly, it had taken much longer for Roadhog to feel that way - and now that he did, he wasn't going to let anything happen to the boy.

 

"Yer bein' a right dill 'bout 'm, is why." Junkrat frowned, and it was a full lip frown, the kind of frown you see on a petulant child, but without the attitude behind it. "H'runs outta th' room, flat out like a lizard drinkin', y'never say jack t'm when 'e does stay, 'n I know 'xactly what 'appened way back when 'n you two _dipsticks_ need t'talk it out." He crossed forward, sticking a finger at Reaper's chest, accusatory and pointed. "Yer mad as hell at each other over nothin'. Yer not talkin' shtick is as useful as tits on a bull, 'n it needs t'stop."

 

"You can't make me talk to him." Reaper wasn't having that kind of shit, and as far as he knew, they couldn't do anything about it. Sure, they could yell and scream and bitch all they wanted, but Reaper had nothing he enjoyed or wanted besides Soldier 76's death, and there was nothing they could take away from him to back up their threat. But Junkrat smiled that smug smile, and doubt trickled into Reaper's mind.

 

"Oh ye?" Junkrat leaned back, and it was weird being the shorter one on Reaper's end, and he bristled. "'Ere's th'deal. You agree t'give talkin' all peaceful like a fair go, 'n you'll get t'leave this room." Junkrat nodded. Reaper paused a second, because the threat left a lot to be desired. But then Junkrat continued, and he realized what they meant. "Th'boy don't need t'go nowhere, 'n between me 'n Roadie, we kin keep y'at bay. Y'want t'not spin right round every time y'try t'leave, I'd take th'offer. Ain't worth it, gettin' inta a blue w'us, mate. Not fer this. Not askin' y't'fix nothin', jus' talk."

 

Reaper was silent for a moment, and Junkrat lifted his hand. He spun his finger in the air, and to emphasize the point, Junkrat had the boy spin Reaper around and back twice, leaving him dizzy and sick feeling afterwards. Being spun by the boy's powers wasn't like spinning on your own - there was a forced quality to it, and every time he went around it was like there were seconds he just didn't get to have. It was similar to the sensation of a plane taking off unexpectedly, or a boat jerking out of a dock without warning, that sheer moment of sickening jolt in the pit of his stomach making him feel _terrible_. Of course, they were right. They weren't asking him to do much, and he could have just said yes. But there was something about being forced that made him ache to say no, to kill them all.

 

"You think you can take me?" He asked, and he sounded sick, but he kept up the anger in his voice all the same. Roadhog slammed his fist into his open palm in a _yes_ gesture, and Reaper realized that he'd never properly fought either Junker. Sure, Junkrat was wirey and easy to outpace, considering his metal handicap, but Reaper had never gone one on one with those bombs before. They looked like they hurt, and if they were anything close to what cause Junkrat to lose and arm and leg, he didn't want to have to deal with those. And Roadhog, well... He could see in the tilt of Roadhog's head that the large Junker wasn't to be messed with when it came to the child. In some way, he could see a lot of himself in Roadhog, that murderous intent to kill, the small amount of give-a-shit about who actually dies, the fierce loyalty to those he loves and trusts. It reminded Reaper of himself back in the Overwatch days, and he shivered a little, because his younger self was just as much of a terror as he was then. He hadn't gotten better with his powers, just more versatile, more flexible.

 

"We kin' certainly try. 'N even if we lose, think th'deals off if y'try 'n tango with us." Junkrat put his hands behind his head in a way that said he'd already won, and honestly, Reaper was probably going to give in anyway. Sure, he could murder them all and run for it, but he'd lose the chance of a free go at Soldier 76's life, and that was honestly worth it in the end. Besides, fighting them could generate a loss, and while he was honestly confident he'd be able to take them, he wasn't entirely sure. He'd learned a thing or two about odds, fighting with Talon, and how they usually had pretty terrible ones. He'd learned sometimes it was better to just call it quits and fight later than die trying. Only heroes gave their lives like that, and Reaper hadn't been a hero since the end of the war. Not to anyone but Jack, that was.

 

"Fine. I'll talk to him." Reaper huffed, putting his hand on his head. That spinning really did make him feel sick to his stomach. He felt like he was still spinning, and he couldn't tell if it was because he was just a shadow, or because the kid was getting stronger. The Junkers had never reported feeling this upset that soon. "Maybe even buy him a coffee, who knows." He added the second half as sarcasm as a way to cover up exactly how terrible he felt. He hadn't felt that bad in ages, not since he'd died. Dying only felt marginally worse. He turned to leave, and they didn't stop him, which was a fantastic start to all this.

 

"I'll ask 'm how it went later." Junkrat half threatened, half teased, in a weird almost schoolgirl way of saying he'd check in later and see how mushy their conversation got, and Reaper waved him off with a huff. He stumbled a little when he stepped away, but they weren't stopping him as he headed for the door. He was planning on taking an hour or so to stop feeling jack shit terrible, because there was little he could do for the feeling besides let his body reorient itself from the spinning, but he didn't get a chance. Stepping out of the bunker nearly had him run full pelt into Soldier 76, who was pacing the hall outside. He pulled up just in time, and the other did the same, and they stared at each other for a long moment.

 

 _Well,_ Reaper thought, looking at Jack's face without the mask, _I'm not getting to lay down any time soon_.


	12. Otòn

Reaper hadn't expected to walk straight into the man he wanted to talk to, and it was clear from the look on Soldier 76's face that he felt the same, however, it was also clear the other man had come to talk to Reaper as he left the training room. He was dressed fairly nicely - a nice button up shirt tucked into slacks, though he didn't trade out his usual boots for anything - and he was without mask or goggles, leaving Reaper staring at the man full on in the face. Soldier 76 watched Reaper stand there, swaying a little, despondent and huffy, and he looked past at Junkrat for a clue, who gave him a thumbs up. Part of him didn't want to know what they had done, and the rest of him was immediately worried that they'd seriously hurt Reaper, who wasn't actively pushing his way past. It was clear from their stances that both men wanted to say something, and that Reaper was hurting, and they hovered around it for a moment longer. When they did speak they spoke in unison, cutting themselves off short when they realized what they had done.

 

"Would you mind getting coffee with---"

 

"Can you talk to those two in there about--"

 

They paused, awkward in their movements, and eventually Reaper just went to move past. He was going to ask Soldier 76 to talk to the two Junkers about how being the _good guys_ also means you shouldn't fucking _torture_ someone and make them motion sick while keeping them captive, but Soldier 76's words made him just want to leave. It was clear that Soldier 76 wanted an actual _date_ out of this, and not just a conversation, and he couldn't deal with that. Reaper was not mentally prepared to accept or reject a possibility of a date, because he still looked at Soldier 76 and saw the blood running through his veins and wanted to see that blood hit the floor just as much as he wanted to feel those lips again and his mother taught him from a young age that kind of hatred and love don't mix well or often. But when he moved, he stumbled, and Soldier 76 was the one that caught him, hands on his arms to keep him from falling.

 

Soldier 76 looked past Reaper - who wanted to walk away, curl into a corner, and deform into shadows until his brain decided it understood what up and down meant again - to look at Junkrat and Roadhog. His face was a mix of parental anger and general mixed upset feelings, which Junkrat had not expected. "What did you two do?" He asked. He didn't wait for a response, pulling at Reaper's mask, looking at the man's face underneath. He was pale, paler than usual, and looked green around the gills. "You look terrible." He paused, looking back at the boy, and the years of dating the other man sorted out the issue in his head. Gabriel Reyes was of hearty stock, and very hard to make ill - he could eat just about anything, with no qualms about taste, age or ripeness of the food item - but motion sickness was one thing he was bad with. A plane ride was fine, a car ride okay, but too much spinning made him sick, especially when it wasn't his legs doing it. Soldier 76 sighed, shaking his head and leading the other man bodily towards the kitchen area.

 

"Come on." He grumbled. Junkrat did a good job of fucking things up, though he wasn't honestly too mad. They seemed pretty proud, and he didn't exactly let them know he was planning on asking Reaper out that evening, so he really couldn't fault them too much. Reaper grumbled, but followed along, letting himself be guided. He hated being motion sick, because his head still hurt even like this and his stomach still churned and it was like his body picked just then to remind him that he still had needs.

 

"You're not dragging me off to some fancy restaurant for a date, are you?" Reaper asked, voice soft. He didn't want this to be a date, he didn't want to have to make that choice right then, because he couldn't guarantee that he'd say no. He needed to say no, of course, but his lips were like fire every time he thought about Dorado and he needed to stop thinking about it.

 

"Not anymore." Soldier 76 chuckled, shaking his head as they moved towards the back kitchen. It was the one connected to his quarters, and it was private and well stocked. He kept the kitchen area fairly clean, and a glance into his quarters said he'd cleaned up a little bit. It was one of those things where Jack had no idea what would happen during the date, but he wanted to be prepared for anything. His kitchen was cold, and it felt good to Reaper now, and Jack bustled about, digging around in the back cabinets once Reaper sat down at the table. He pulled out a small box and tossed it Reaper's way, before pulling out some coffee grounds and filling the coffee maker. "I was hoping we could at least get coffee somewhere, but this will have to do."

 

"I like your coffee better." Reaper murmured, inspecting the box. It had his name - Gabe - scrawled on the side in black marker, and it was a box of _Biodramina_ , more commonly known as _Dramamine_. The box was in Spanish, as they'd gotten it at a doctor in the area, but it was full of little patches. It was a motion sickness medication, and Reaper pulled off his mask, pulling down his hood and pressing the little patch just behind his ear. "How old is this shit?"

 

"I have no idea." Jack chuckled, making sure he had two clean mugs ready for the coffee and starting the pot. It gurgled happily in the background, and he leaned against the counter with his hands in his pockets.

 

"Why did you keep it?" Reyes asked, putting his chin on his arms. It would take a hot minute for the meds to kick in, and having his head grounded felt good.

 

"I have no idea." Jack laughed, a little more sad at that one. Of course, he did know, but he didn't want to say it. He liked keeping things with Gabriel's name on it, because it reminded him of before. He could wake up in the morning and look in the cabinet and for a moment everything was alright again, and he didn't have to remember what happened.

 

"They wanted me to talk to you." Reyes said, sort of out of the blue, staring at the far wall. It swam slightly under his vision and he closed his eyes. "Just talk to you, honestly. The skinny one, Ratboy whatever, he said he knew what happened. Said it was just a big misunderstanding. So they kept spinning me around until I agreed." He huffed.

 

"I'll talk to them about not doing that again." Jack sat down, leaning back on his chair. This wasn't how he expected his date to go, but of course, he honestly hadn't had any ideas in mind. Reaper could have just turned him down straight off, or they could have found a coffee shop and then killed a man - there was little telling what would actually happen with Reyes around. He paused, the only sound the gurgle of the coffee as it brewed. "Talking sounds nice, though." He smiled, the words honest. Talking without fighting would be _wonderful_.

 

"Mm." Reyes shrugged, eyes still closed. There was a long silence, but it was comfortable, not awkward. They weren't trying for conversation, just letting it sort of happen, and it felt like how they had been, where they could sit together in silence for hours with breaks of conversation like they'd been talking for days straight. "Y'know she's working for Talon, too." He said, eventually, words soft. Jack sat up a little bit, because there was only one person he could mean.

 

"Amelie." He said. The coffee pot dinged that it was ready, and he stood, trying not to let his posture say that he was too startled by the words. Part of him knew it was her, but he never wanted to trust that part of himself. "I remember her. She was sweet - Gerard was lucky." He said, pouring the coffee. Neither of them took sugar, and he only took a little coffee creamer in his. He passed the mug of black across the table, and Reyes picked it up. He _adored_ Morrison's coffee, and it was weird because it wasn't special. He bought generic beans and ground them, and then made it in a shitty coffee maker according to the directions, but there was something about it that was better than any coffee Reyes had ever tasted.

 

"Tch. She's still a bitch." Reyes chuckled a little, sipping on the coffee. It was still hot, and his tongue tried to turn to smoke in protest. "She still doesn't know Amari's alive. Keep _forgetting_ to let her know." That was Gabe's way of saying that he just never did, because he liked having the satisfaction of knowing she failed every time she bragged about being the best sniper in the world. "Ana would knock her into next Wednesday if she knew what that bitch said behind the scenes."

 

"Good to know some people don't change." Morrison chuckled, sitting across from Reyes. They sat there in the quiet for a moment, sipping at their coffees, and for once it felt _normal_ again. They felt like real people, not specialized assassins out to kill each other. "Mccree's still out there, y'know. He's been doing other people's dirty work."

 

"I'm almost a little proud." Reyes laughed, nodding along with his coffee. The world was starting to right itself again, and the coffee was delicious, and he felt good sitting there. The part of him that wanted to take Morrison's throat and rip it out was sated, put to bed like a sleepy dog, and he didn't bother to wake it. He knew this changed very little in the long run, or at least he hoped it wouldn't. It would be a shame to get all the way to the end of this training only to not kill Jack - however, if for some reason they ended up back together instead, he'd take the trade. "Like father like son, huh?"

 

"Yeah." Jack slipped his chair around the table a little to get closer, cup on the table like he was about to tell a story. "You remember, back in the day, when he would run around the base acting like some big shot kid?"

 

"Of course. Beat that out of him _real_ fast. Made him run laps with me until he couldn't breathe. He learned." Gabe shook his head, taking a drink of coffee. He was more animated now, feeling better, though he knew the drowsiness of the medication would set in soon. "They always learn in the end. Even that Junk kid'll learn not to fuck with me."

 

"Don't do anything too rash." Jack put a hand on Reye's arm, and the other didn't flinch away from the touch at all. The hand felt nice there, and smoke slipped through Jack's fingers. "They were just trying to help. I think they want to see me happy. Or you happy. And besides," Jack shrugged, gesturing to the moment around him, "they helped, a little."

 

"Better than having you jump me to go to some yuppie shop with shit coffee, anyway." Reyes grumbled. He eyed Morrison over his coffee, quiet for a long moment. "It's going to take a lot more than a few run ins in the halls and one adrenaline high night in Dorado to get me into any coffee shop with you, Morrison." He said, and while the tone was slightly teasing, there was a bit of sadness and a bit of threat to it. "I'm not just going to fall into your arms again." He mostly said that for himself, so he wouldn't be tempted to. Jack's arms were notoriously warm and inviting.

 

"I know." Jack sighed. He knew Reyes would be difficult and hard to get to come around, but that was always part of the man's charm. "It took four grenades, three weeks in a tent in the desert and six days of being stuck in a half blown out building in Amsterdam to get you to admit you liked me in the first place. Trust me, Reyes, I know who I'm dealing with."

 

"At least you don't have to live through a broken leg this time." Reyes chuckled, remembering the moment fondly. "Don't have to lug your ass through rubble. You're god damn heavy, you know."

 

"I could have walked, if you'd let me splint my own damn leg." Jack quipped back, natural in his response as he was quick about delivering it. "I still think you just liked putting your hands all over me."

 

"I'm not going down that route tonight, Morrison." Reyes' words seemed suddenly distant, and Jack realized he'd crossed a line. Their coffee was finished, and Gabriel sat in his chair, feeling tired and mentally undressed by the whole thing. It was like he had been drugged and stripped and he wanted to stop before it got worse. He loved talking about the old days, and he didn't regret the conversation, but it was turning down a road he wanted to pretend didn't exist. Because when they talked about them sleeping together, they would eventually come to a point where they'd want to recreate those days, and if the slept together there was only a small chance in hell that Reaper would still act on his own promises. And Reyes didn't like breaking promises. "I can't."

 

"It's okay. I'm sorry I mentioned it." Jack took it in stride, collecting the coffee cups and throwing them in the sink. He was always good at that kind of thing - he'd take just about anything with a straight face back in the day. The death of a friend or a family member, the accusations of criminal activities, the one time Reyes broke up with him for three days to make a point - he took it all in stride with a straight face like a proper politician. There was a reason the big names upstairs loved him as a front-man. He could probably work in retail and smile through all the bullshit if he hadn't been conditioned to point guns at rude people. Soldier 76 sighed, hands on the sink, hunched over it, and he looked tired. He looked so tired.

 

"Look, I need to go." Reyes stood, a little wobbly still, both hands on the table. He didn't _need_ to do shit - he was feeling better, and a good walk outside would clear the rest of his foggy head right up - but he felt like he needed to end the conversation. They had been doing so well, not fighting, talking like real people, but the tension was starting to build up in the room and he didn't want to sully the moment. Thinking about how he was going to kill the other soon, he wanted to make sure he still had a good memory left to reflect on when the other was gone.

 

"Would you... can we talk more?" Jack asked, standing from the sink and shoving his hands in his pockets like an awkward prom king seeing their date to the door. "I like this. I liked not fighting. I'd like to have another of these moments, if that's okay." He was begging, and it was so tempting for Reyes to just say _no_ and watch that face break, because Jack was so open and so honest with him right then that there was no way he was prepared for a rejection. But Reyes didn't want to lose the opportunity for a nice conversation.

 

"No dates. No coffee shops, no dinner dates. We stay here, we meet here. Food, sure. Drinking, whatever. I don't even know if alcohol effects me anymore. But no _dates_." Reyes pointed to Jack like he expected Jack to be taking notes, because these were conditions. "I don't want to have to find a fuckin' suit, Morrison. I know how you plan shit." He wagged his finger, and this brought a small smile to Jack's face. "But we can talk. If there's more coffee involved, that is." Reyes grinned a little. "Honestly, I'd just take the coffee. Fuck talking." He laughed, and Jack laughed with him.

 

"And if you fall into my arms?" He asked, a honest and hopeful smile on his face. Reaper frowned, pulling his mask back down over his face. He didn't want Soldier 76 to see the small smile there, because while he didn't _want_ any of it, the idea of falling into the other's arms again wasn't _terrible_.

 

"Don't count on it. Not until you're dead, at least." Reaper huffed, turning for the door. He didn't want to see the sadness on Jack's face when he left him with that, and headed for the door. He was playing a dangerous game, and he knew it. There was a thin line he was walking, between playing the other for all he was worth and really falling for him, and in some places the line was so blurred there was no line at all. Widowmaker would kill him for even walking it, but it was a fun line to walk. As long as he didn't give up on his plans, he could waiver on either side of the line he wanted. But he risked falling, and he didn't need to do that. The last thing he wanted was to fall straight into Soldier 76's arms.


	13. Regrèt

Reaper decided to start the next training day off on something new, pushing the boy to find out what else he could do. He wanted to try and fast track the boy's progress as much as he could, because he was starting to doubt himself. Every moment he spent with Soldier 76 was making him more and more prone to thinking that he couldn't do it in the end, and he didn't need that. He knew that if they kept talking, he'd eventually get a drink, and then if he got a drink he didn't know if he would be able to keep himself in the right place. He needed to come through with his half of the deal, even if he spent the nights staring at the stars instead of sleeping and thinking of those hot lips and wanting things to be back to the way they were. He could wish all he wanted, but in the end he needed to be able to pull the trigger, and he was almost a little afraid that he wouldn't be able to.

 

So he'd started the boy on a stressful routine of practice. Combat training, knife fighting, knife throwing, spinning Junkers, spinning weighted dummies, and very little break in between. Of course the boy got days off, especially with Mercy hovering over their shoulders and refusing to let the child get overworked for the sake of speed, but every day in training was grueling. It was a particularly hot day, a week or so later - much to Reaper's dismay, because he'd been out talking with Soldier 76 four more times in that week and he loved and hated every moment of it - and the boy was starting to wear thin. He could tell the boy's actions were slowing, reactions weighted and heavy. He was fighting Junkrat - he'd just finished a round of knife throwing, and his skills were getting sharp, but his strength was waning and he couldn't make the knives stick in the practice board - and the Junker was going easy on him.

 

Junkrat wasn't any good with knives, so it should honestly have been an easy match. Most of the time the boy could disarm Junkrat in a few minutes, sometimes even less than that. He was small and hard to catch, and when he would snap to being invisible Junkrat couldn't catch him. But that day he wasn't doing as well, and Junkrat was starting to get worried. The boy wouldn't go invisible, he was slow, dragging even, and he looked ready to just sit down and stop. Reaper hadn't been the easiest teacher, no. But he'd been fair. The boy had been doing well. Maybe he needed a break, sure. But every achievement came through the application of pain at some point. He'd just hit his wall, and Reaper knew that.

 

Junkrat tried not to swing too much at the boy, letting him sort of take it easy, and the boy didn't really swing back, slightly dazed. Reaper watched on, and growled a little in his throat, because this wouldn't do. He couldn't have the boy stagnate here. Of course this was the hardest part of the uphill, but he needed to push through it, and he needed Junkrat to do the pushing. So when they separated, he held up a hand as a cue to stop. The boy seemed grateful for a moment, but he'd learned to read Reaper's face over time, and the grateful smile faded as he saw Reaper's frown. Reaper rarely frowned like that.

 

"Streetmouse." Reaper approached the boy, holding out his hand. The boy didn't move for a second, clutching the knife to his chest, even though the gesture was clear. "Give me the knife."

 

"'e can't do nothin' without a weapon, y'show pony." Junkrat protested, crossing his arms. He was watching Reaper warily, unsure what the other was doing, but distrusting of it. He'd taken to calling Reaper _show pony_ almost as punishment, but Reaper honestly didn't care. He'd been called worse things in his life.

 

"Yes, he can." Reaper growled, taking the knife a little forcefully once the boy offered it up. He turned to Junkrat, crossing his arms. "You're going to fight him again, and you're not going to hold back. Every time he's discovered something new about himself, he's been _afraid_."

 

"'M not gonna scare m'own boy." Junkrat snapped back. Reaper had seen something new in Junkrat the past few days, as the boy started to wane more and more, and part of him loved seeing it and part of him wanted to strangle Junkrat right then and there. It was a weird protectiveness for the boy, a growling barking dog sort of protectiveness, and it was both sweet and infuriating. "Yer bonkers if y'think I'm gonna stab 'm."

 

"It's either you, or me." The threat was less than thinly veiled, Reaper puffing up slightly to make it less tempting. Junkrat stood tall, because he'd realized recently that he was significantly taller than Reaper and that made the other mad. Of course, it was an honest consideration - Junkrat wasn't good with knives, and the kid could honestly take him even without a knife, but he definitely couldn't take Reaper. The ex-Overwatch agent was large and imposing and the boy hadn't been fighting someone good at knife work before. They puffed up against each other for a long moment, before a tug on Junkrat's sleeve brought them both out of it. The boy was standing near them, and tugged again on Junkrat's sleeve in an indication of his choice. "See, look. He wants _you_. Smart kid." Reaper grinned, but it wasn't in a friendly way.

 

"Right then, y'anklebiter. Y'wanna 'ave a blue with yer pop?" Junkrat grinned, though part of him worried. The boy was getting tired, and part of him feared hurting Streetmouse. But the boy seemed ready for it, and Junkrat steadied himself for the fight. He went for it, like he always did, and it was clear he hadn't learned anything about knife fighting even though he'd spent the past few days doing it. He struck outward, and the boy dodged, but he was slow with it, flailing a little. There was clear fear in the boy's eyes this time, because it was one thing to think of being unarmed against a knife and another thing entirely to actually _be_ unarmed. He dodged and rolled and Junkrat swung and tried so hard not to pull his swings. He got in close, ready to stab down, and his heart clenched because the boy wasn't dodging and it would hit and then the boy's hands were on his face.

 

Reaper watched in astonishment, like everything was in slow motion, thought the moment happened incredibly fast. The boy's eyes went white, no iris or pupil, just the white of his eyes, pale and ice-like and wide, and started to let off a little smoke. It was like Reaper's smoke, but a white blue, thin and trailing like the trail from the end of a match head, and it leaked from his mouth and ears and eyes in languid streams. It was like he was just dissolving, right then and there, before Reaper's eyes. He was used to that kind of thing, as he fought against doing that himself almost constantly - but to see the boy doing the same and melting away was almost terrifying. Junkrat's eyes went the same, no pupil, an echo of the other's eyes, like a mirror, and his mouth hung open and gaping. Their eyes mirrored each other, like the surface of a body of water, shimmering and soft, glistening like they were one thing and not two. Blue smoke dripped from the place where the boy's fingers contacted Junkrat's face - whether it was Junkrat's face pulling away or the boy's fingers, it was impossible to tell, and the two melded together almost seamlessly - and they hung there in that moment, unmoving and unchanging. And then in a blink it was over, and the boy snapped back and Junkrat pulled back and they stared at teach other wide eyed but otherwise unchanged.

 

"Hooley Dooley." Junkrat murmured, and it was obvious he could feel what happened just as much as the boy could. "What the fuck was _that_?" Junkrat squinted at the boy, who was staring at his hands. He looked surprised by his own abilities, but also proud, like he'd realized how to do a thing he hadn't before and he'd made progress. Reaper watched, mouth still gaping, because as far as he could tell the boy just _possessed_ Junkrat. Of course, they needed to test it, because visuals alone weren't exactly a true key, but Reaper understood the boy's powers well enough. They were a mimic of his own, spawned from the same source, and there was a deep understanding he had about the whole thing. He looked to Junkrat, who was grinning, that spark in his eyes that he got when he was about to throw himself wholly into something dangerous. "Let's do that _again_!"

 

Reaper passed Junkrat, bending down to the boy. "Do you think you could do that again?" He asked, watching the boy's face. They'd gotten good at communicating even without sign-language proper, which was good. The boy nodded, trying to deftly explain what he thought happened. He pointed to himself, and then Junkrat, and gestured to his own eyes, and then made a slightly vague sign that probably meant through. Reaper nodded - the boy saw things through Junkrat's eyes, probably, but that was what he thought. "Right. Get up, grab his hand and try to do that again." He stood again, turning to Junkrat. "Just stand there, and whatever happens, don't resist." Reaper honestly grinned, because Junkrat seemed excited to get possessed again.

 

Possession was never as exciting when the person doing it knew what was going on. Maybe they'd break the young Junker's cheery optimism yet.

 

The boy shuffled over, taking Junkrat's hand, and his face shifted into a grimace as he tried. Junkrat hummed a little, patient, occasionally looking down at the boy, but nothing happened. There was no spark, no connection, and after a moment the boy looked up and shrugged. They weren't doing something right. Reaper considered the situation, arms crossed. Never in his years of training dumb kids had he ever had to think so hard about _how_ to go about training them. Most of the things he taught were very intuitive - gun training was literally just continuously aiming and firing, sparring was about repetition of a movement until you got good at it, and even his own powers came very naturally to him. He stood there, and his lips shifted to smoking a little, and he opened his mouth so he didn't cough on his own smoke.

 

After a second, he stepped forward, picking the boy up under the arms - and he was so light, so very light, almost absurdly so, and Reaper wondered if he was also so light even as a grown man, if this was something to the power or if this was something that was just the boy - and set him on Junkrat's shoulders. That was the one thing that was different - contact to the head - and Reaper wondered if that would make a difference. The boy nodded, understanding, and Junkrat breathed out, trying to relax but somewhere between excited and tense. Hands met Junkrat's head, and after a moment, it happened again. The boy's eyes were white, solid white, and he was breathing out smoke and concentrating so totally he looked about ready to explode, and Junkrat's eyes were white and his jaw slack. Smoke started to stream out of Junkrat's mouth, but the connection lasted more than a moment.

 

"Good. Now move him." Reaper had a grin on his face, because this was exciting. They'd made progress, real and good progress, and now the end of this training montage was in sight and he could feel Soldier 76's blood on his hands and his lips on his own and he needed to concentrate before he started to tear himself apart in impatience and self doubt about the whole thing. Streetmouse nodded and Junkrat nodded in time, and slowly they started to shuffle forward. It was slow progress, as Streetmouse had to get used to balancing on the peg leg, which was something he didn't innately have knowledge of, but after a moment he was walking fine. He approached the table, and Junkrat's hand reached out, grasping at a knife. Fingers were hard to get used to, and the boy was starting to strain, like exerting control was taking a lot of effort. Reaper made a mental note that the boy had been in control only about thirty seconds, and that was probably a safe time limit for most other practice sessions, but he wanted to see how long the boy could stretch the control. Junkrat tossed the knife in the air, and it was a fluid catch Reaper had never seen Junkrat capable of performing, and then he threw the knife. It stuck in the backboard of the target almost effortlessly - a skill that was entirely Streetmouse.

 

"Excellent." Reaper hissed, excited about the possibilities of the power. The duo that was Streetmouse and Junkrat turned, and the boy's mouth moved as Junkrat's did, though the voice came out in Junkrat's tones.

 

"I can hear you." They said, together, a small echo of the boy's voice behind the natural tones of Junkrat's voice in his throat. The boy broke into a grin, and Junkrat did the same, a strained, pained grin. "I miss sound." A tear rolled down the boy's cheek, but not Junkrat's, the boy's smile sad. "I want sound back." It was still Junkrat's voice, but it had the tones of a child, a child upset and crying and unable to properly articulate the things he wants. Reaper felt his heart clench slightly at that - he'd forgotten he had a heart, for one thing, so the sensation of pain at the boy's suffering was surprising and strange - and he approached the pair. He felt _terrible_ for the boy, being so deaf so suddenly, with no time to adjust to any of it.

 

"I'll talk to Mercy, see if we can help you with hearing aids." He murmured, his voice soft, pressing a hand to the boy's own hand. He would have pressed a hand to the boy's head, but he couldn't reach that far. "Now, let him go. It's been long enough." He nodded to Junkrat, and the duo nodded, the boy pulling his hands away. He breathed in like he hadn't been breathing, eyes going blue again, tears streaking down his face at the sudden silence, and then they were falling. Junkrat had come back in much the same way, eyes full and wide, breathing in like he had almost drowned, and the sudden lack of control over his body had him falling back. They hit the ground hard, the boy slightly winded, but Junkrat much worse for wear. He was breathing, and his eyes were his own and wide, but his mouth was slack and he was otherwise unmoving. The boy crawled over, shaking Junkrat gently by the torso, and after that moment of sound he'd almost forgotten he couldn't hear himself. He started babbling, too loud in a language Reaper didn't understand, almost like rote memorization on the part of the words.

 

"Papa! Papa! Ki sa m 'fè ak papa mwen an? Sa k te pase papa? Tanpri, papa, reveye, tanpri, mwen pa t' vle di fè sa nou la a, mwen pa t' vle di! Mwen regrèt sa, tanpri, jis reveye!" The boy screamed, crying loudly. Junkrat didn't move, staring at the ceiling, wholly broken. Reaper didn't understand the boy, but he could pick out a word or two - Papa, for one, and regrèt, which was much like a word he'd only ever heard Widowmaker utter once - _sorry_. He leaned down and pressed a hand to Junkrat's chest to see if the man was still alive, and he was. His heart was beating and he was breathing, but it was like all voluntary movements had been shut off and wouldn't turn back on. The boy turned to Reaper, baby face streaked with tears, and made a series of signs - we, need, and then hands pressed to his belly and then his face, Roadhog, and then his hands out like wings, Mercy - half panicked. Reaper nodded, standing.

 

"You stay here." He ordered, and the boy nodded, reading his lips again and all the more sad about not being able to hear the words. With that, Reaper left, a casual walk to the infirmary to gather the nurse and the other Junker. He didn't feel sad for what happened to Junkrat - the Junker would be _fine_ , they didn't break anything, he was just having a hard time recovering - but his heart hurt for the boy all the same. He needed to finish this training, before they all turned him into a sappy mess.


	14. Mache

Junkrat didn't start speaking again for three days, and training was put on hold until he recovered. Of course, Mercy was _livid_ that they'd experimented on Junkrat without proper testing, but Reaper shrugged her off. He was used to shrugging off her motherly attitude from the old days, and not even the glares from Soldier 76 at the dismissive attitude could weaken that. They'd found out, after a day of testing and wires and Roadhog hovering like he was ready to start swinging if Junkrat was hurt, that Junkrat was fine, just partially paralyzed while his body rediscovered what it meant to be in control of itself. His nerves were good, though, and his brain was functional as much as it had been, it was just he didn't remember how to drive the bus and needed to get reacquainted with the process. Mercy told them it would be slow going and he may be out of commission for a week if not longer. When he did speak again, he spoke slowly, like working through words was difficult.

 

"Hooley dooley. Y'done me right good, there, Mousey." Junkrat had said, unblaming and full of adoration for the boy's powers, and he'd chuckled weakly. The boy hugged him and cried loud, hot tears because as far as the boy could understand, he'd nearly killed Junkrat. He'd only been able to see Junkrat every so often, because while they waited for the Junker to come to, Mercy had the boy in her office most days, attempting to fit hearing aids. She had a hard time fitting them because while his ears may have been fucked, they were sensitive, and he was a squirmy little shit the whole time. His left ear, the most damaged one, was no longer functional, and a hearing aid only provided the smallest of sound recognition. But a hearing aid fit to the other ear would actually provide proper sound, and overall he'd be able to hear words, have conversations and get some directional sound, which was a vast improvement. They just needed to order it in his size, as his ears were very small and Mercy didn't have anything made for children.

 

Junkrat had been awake for a few days when Mercy decided Roadhog and the boy needed to get out of the hospital. Roadhog had nearly stayed anyway - he'd been watching over Junkrat for the days he'd been in there and hadn't left his side the entire time - but Mercy persuaded him to at least get the boy out. Seeing Junkrat in the hospital had Roadhog so angry, hurt and worried that he nearly lost what little humanity he did have - he wanted to take Reaper's smug head and shove it up his ass for him for suggesting they practice any techniques so unsafely on the poor addled Junker, and he didn't care if that made him a monster, and he didn't care if that meant the rest of the base would turn on him - but knowing he needed to help the boy was a comfort to what little humanity he had. Junkrat was his everything, literally and figuratively, and it took the only other thing Roadhog cared about to keep him from going whole hog on every living thing in Gibraltar and calling it a day.

 

Part of him wondered, absently, if the boy was sent to them as a way to ground him when Junkrat couldn't. If the boy was capable of keeping him whole, maybe that was how the world was coming back on him - they killed the boy, so the boy now killed every part of Roadhog that was a killer in return. It would be poetic, honestly, and a gift Roadhog didn't know he wanted or needed. He thought this as they wandered out into the streets of Gibraltar together, just the two of them, Roadhog in a hat and sunglasses and facemask. The boy held his hand tightly, and for once it was quiet as they meandered, silent save the bustle of the city around them. It felt strange for it to be so quiet, so without sound, but it wasn't uncomfortable. The boy had an energy that was palpable and it filled any empty space the Junker left behind.

 

_I'm sorry about Papa. I didn't mean to_. The boy signed at one point, and Roadhog nodded in acknowledgement. He understood, and he didn't blame the boy, especially if Junkrat didn't blame the kid either. Streetmouse had very little to do with what happened to Junkrat, even if he was the one to _do_ it. Reaper was the one to blame, pushing them both too far and putting them in a place where it would happen. Junkrat didn't know how to say no to things like that - there was a reason he needed Roadhog around - and the boy couldn't have known anything bad would happen. Roadhog grunted softly, squeezing the boy's tiny hand in his own gently in acceptance of the apology. He smiled, mouth and eyes covered but the smile visible in his cheeks and in the way his face moved. The boy smiled back, running ahead and dragging Roadhog along.

 

They reached a small market that was completely packed with people, and Roadhog cut a swathe through them, following the boy along. They looked at a few stalls, the boy finding a few things to buy for Junkrat - a half working clock he could take apart and rewire to explode, a single sock in a discount bin that was covered with ducks, and a sleeveless jacket with mouse ears on it - and Roadhog eagerly pleased the boy by purchasing them. He loved being able to make the boy smile, because there was something so pure in the way the boy grinned at him, something he could see in Junkrat's smiles, something that made him think back to when he was still young and living in an un-irradiated Outback.

 

He was only in his teens when the Omnic Crisis started. He lived on a cattle ranch outside the city with his mother and baby brother. He barely knew that Omnics were things before they started tearing the country apart, as their farm needed no extra robotic anything hanging around. Their ranch was destroyed, set on fire, and his family were killed in the process. It was a miracle he survived. He remembered his brother's smile before all that - only five at the time, such a young lad, energetic and unsullied by the ways of the world, bouncing around, chasing the dog, climbing trees - and Streetmouse brought back those memories full on. It was like watching his younger brother, seeing Streetmouse drag him along by the hand. Part of him wished he could have the boy back, but the rest of him was glad that he had _someone_ to remember the boy by. Someone to make him think back to then.

 

Streetmouse stopped, turning back and climbing up the bulk of Roadhog's arms and belly to sit on his arm like a parrot. He'd learned to do that while swimming, as it kept him from getting washed away by the water. The boy leaned in, pressing a hand to Roadhog's cheek, and the large Junker realized it was wet with a tear. He didn't realize he could cry.

 

_Do not cry, Poaka_. Streetmouse signed, reaching up to wipe at Roadhog's face. The sign he called Roadhog was something closer to the word for _hog_ , pushing up on his nose like a pigs snout, but when Junkrat said it, it was like the Maori word for _pig._ His hands were so small on Roadhog's cheeks. _Papa will be okay. Bird Mom said so._ He nodded, and Roadhog chuckled at this, deep in his belly. _Bird Mom_ was, of course, Mercy, even though she rarely wore her wings around the base. He laughed because Streetmouse didn't know why he was sad, but by comforting him, even for the wrong things, he made Roadhog feel better.

 

They walked like that for a while longer, Streetmouse perched on Roadhog's arm, signing at him little stories and things as he saw them. They'd see a person and he'd sign on an on about who he thought they were and where they came from. The market was a good place for that, and with Roadhog's height, he could see everyone. He paused a moment after their second pass around the stalls, and after a second tugged hard on Roadhog's shirt, bouncing a little on his seat and pointing. Roadhog could see, too, after a moment - it was Soldier 76 and Reaper, strolling around the market themselves, talking.

 

They looked like they were talking amicably, wandering around the stalls dressed in casual wear. Roadhog immediately ducked behind a stall, because he didn't want to be seen out there watching them. The boy seemed to get his idea and giggled softly, dropping down to hang on Roadhog's arm, more out of sight. They could kind of hear the two of them talking through the stalls as they got closer, and Roadhog listened intently, signing a little to fill in the gaps that the boy couldn't see.

 

"You know, if this is an attempt at a date, you can do better." Reaper was saying as they browsed some of the wears nearby. "Shitty local markets aren't exactly my... thing." He grumbled.

 

"You ask me every single time we go out if it's a date." Soldier 76 replied back, studying a series of watches for sale. They looked like cheap shit, but he liked them all the same. "We've left the bunker, what, six times now? And every time it's the same question."

 

"The first time was a date, or at least intended as such." Reaper purposefully bumped into Soldier 76 as he passed, nearly making the other man drop the watch he was holding. Soldier 76 shot him a glare, setting down the merchandise and giving the shop-keep a friendly goodbye before wandering off. Roadhog shifted again so they wouldn't be seen, backing around behind stalls and trees to watch them. This was fun, and the boy was enjoying being sneaky and quiet, a grin on his face

 

"Yes, and I told you as much when I found you." Soldier 76 said, a little grumpy in his tone. "What do you want, Reyes? Do you want me to ask you on a date?" This was teasing, but there was something in Soldier 76's tone that said he'd been through this whole thing before. "It's the same as before. You're terrible at being subtle."

 

"You literally got them to make me head of Blackwatch because I'm _great_ at being subtle, old man." Reaper grinned, inspecting another stall full of various knives. "So what if I had to be forward the first time. _You're_ terrible at noticing hints when they're right in front of your nose."

 

"Alright then, fine." Soldier 76 crossed his arms, leaning against one of the stall's tent poles, a smug look on his face. "The next time we go do anything, it'll be a date. You want it that badly, I'll be happy to oblige." Soldier 76 shoved his hands in his pockets, wandering away before Reaper could retort with something, probably about not wanting a date and about assumptions. Roadhog snickered, and the boy turned in his arms to face him.

 

_Are they gonna be like you and papa?_ He asked, signing quickly before covering his mouth so he didn't giggle. He could hear Reaper shouting after Soldier 76, screaming that he "didn't want to date his boxy ass again" and "how dare he walk away from a conversation". Roadhog shrugged, grinning under the mask. Would they ever get back together? He didn't know. Relationships were always incredibly complicated, which is why he and Junkrat didn't really do much with labeling their own. Sure, according to Outback laws, they were basically married, but out there marriage was a thing of convenience and sharing and less about love or sex or anything that usually defined a relationship. It didn't meant they didn't _have_ those things, of course. But Reaper and Soldier 76 were different. They yelled and they fought and they scrabbled, but they seemed to still have something for each other. It was like they fit, but they didn't want to fit even when part of them ignored their wants and did it anyway. It was a volatile combination, and anything could set off another big break up if they did get back together. They'd been hurt before, badly, and while they seemed like they would be good together, old wounds always healed the worst when the person who caused them lingered. Roadhog didn't want to be around when they finally exploded.

 

"We'll see." Roadhog finally said, pulling down his mask just briefly so the boy could read his lips. It was the best answer he could give, under the circumstances. Streetmouse nodded, stretching a bit and yawning, curling into the bigger Junker's arms. He looked tired, and Roadhog started to leave, because they'd been out for a while and it was time to go home. Soldier 76 and Reaper had moved on, chasing each other through the streets like children, and he had no problems getting out of the market unseen. He cradled the boy in his arms like he used to cradle his brother, and suddenly he ached to see Junkrat again, ached to have that comforting voice tell him things were alright. He needed to be grounded, grounded by sound and by cold and warm hands, because thinking of the impermanency of the other two had him thinking back to before the war, and he needed to know things didn't change like that anymore for him. That the world was done punishing him for the things he did in life and it was his turn to punish the world.

 

Junkrat was sitting up when he returned, and he looked better. He waved with his bad arm, his stump wobbling around a little, his metal arm on the table nearby. "Oi, Roadie, why th'long face?" He asked, his cheer surprising. He paused a minute, understanding the subtle body language of Roadhog's shoulders and the set of his head, and he nodded. "Thinkin' 'bout th' bush? 'Fore it got rooted all t'hell?" Roadhog didn't say anything, instead sitting by the bedside and offering the boy over, as weird sign of a _yes_ as much as it was a gift to the other Junker. Streetmouse had fallen asleep in his arms, curled there, sucking his thumb, hat pulled down over his face. Junkrat took the boy as best he could with one arm, a small smile of adoration on his face. "Lookit th' boyo, fast asleep. Little ripper looks a lot like 'is po'ka, don't 'e?" Junkrat held the boy up with his stump, using his hand to brush the boy's hair out of his face. Roadhog smiled under the mask, because this was what he needed. He thrived on Junkrat in the same way that Junkrat needed him, and one without the other couldn't survive, not really. Not without sadness and guilt eating them both alive.

 

"Y'know, y'shouldn't think too much 'bout ol'Oz." Junkrat said, after a long moment, still looking at the child. "She'll be apples without us, mate. Ain't like we kin do much 'bout much else." He nodded, like this was some sage advice, and honestly, it really was. It didn't mean Roadhog didn't hate the world for what it took, and it didn't mean the events didn't hurt him. But here with his boys, he was okay. He nodded, pulling off his shoes.

 

"Move over." He grumbled, attempting to climb into the hospital bed with Junkrat. Of course they were too small, but he didn't care, and besides Junkrat's slight shriek at being shoved aside, they made it work just fine. Roadhog on one side, Junkrat in his arms, the boy in Junkrat's good arm - the world was complete, at least for as long as they were allowed to be like that. Roadhog smiled. He didn't have to think about the past when the present was griping about having a squished arm, and he liked it.


	15. Kenbe

 "If y'think I'm gonna give that power thing another fair go, y'don't know Christmas from Bourke street." Junkrat said, loudly, even though no one had asked him to do much of anything.

 

Junkrat had improved at a fast rate, able to be up and about after a few more days. He had a different prosthetic on his leg, one that was a full leg piece rather than the peg, and he still didn't have an arm on his stump, but his natural parts were working more or less fine. Running was a hell of a problem, delicate tasks were still something he couldn't even fathom, and he still needed to learn to balance again on two legs like a normal person before Mercy would give him back the peg. He didn't mind so much - of course, he missed his peg, but he liked that his new leg had a tiny ankle, quote, "like that one Shimada bloke". And he could still move around like he normally did, if better than usual, besides the fact that occasionally his real leg would go all kinds of jelly like and he'd fall over. But that happened with just about every part of his body since the incident with the possession, and he was used to it by this point. He'd get over it eventually.

 

"No one asked you to volunteer again." Reaper finally said. He was getting dressed in casual clothes, putting on a hoodie over a t-shirt as he was particularly cold. Not that it was cold outside, but he was just cold. He noticed that he was the only one that was usually cold, and conversely that the boy was almost always very warm. It was strange, that two people made in the same way would be so different, but it was also somewhat comforting to know that they were as much different as they were alike. "That's why we're going out to find a new subject." Reaper nodded, and to emphasize that, Roadhog put a hat on Junkrat's head, probably a little harder than necessary. Junkrat grumbled a little at the rough treatment, but Roadhog was in too good spirits to be mad at for more than a minute. He liked having Junkrat up and running again - the world was too quiet and too boring without him running around, making messes. He actually had a smile on his face whenever Junkrat was around, and Junkrat couldn't stay too mad, because he loved that smile.

 

"Y'wanna drag th'digga along, then?" Junkrat asked, adjusting his hat with his remaining hand before tugging fitfully on the sleeve of his jacket where it was tied off on his arm. Reaper shook his head, heading for the door in long strides, Streetmouse trailing along behind him like an excited puppy. He kind of liked having the boy running around his feet, as it reminded him of the old days when McCree was still a boy he was training - though Streetmouse was significantly smaller.

 

"No. I don't expect we're going to be doing this the legal way, so I'd rather not get him involved if we can help it." Reaper shot a small grin back at the Junkers, because he liked doing things the illegal way. It was usually so much easier and faster than trying to do things within the scope of the law, though he knew Soldier 76 would have his head if he found out. Of course, Junkrat was immediately excited, bounding forward on his new leg, falling flat on his face, and scrambling back up again to catch up. Reaper frowned, realizing he was making a small mistake, because he _slightly_ underestimated Junkrat's love of skirting the law.

 

"Oo, what we doin' then?" Junkrat giggled, a high pitched, almost insane sort of laugh, and the boy circled both their legs excitedly - probably because he had no concept of law, or what illegal was, considering who he was growing up with, and just figured that if Junkrat was excited he should be excited too. Reaper felt like he was being followed around by two excited puppies, and this didn't exactly please him. He preferred McCree, who was at least laid back, if the sassiest person he'd ever worked with. At least Streetmouse didn't talk back. He led them out into the city, grumbling a bit as he explained, because Junkrat wouldn't stay _still_ and they needed to not draw too much attention to themselves. At least it was getting dark, the evening waning, and the lights were sparse and kept them shadowed while they worked.

 

"Usually taking people off the street to practice possessing them in a back alley isn't exactly considered legal.. It's basically kidnapping, even if we let them go after. _You_ get to stay on watch so we don't get caught." Reaper gestured to Junkrat as he said this, and the Junker looked a little deflated at the notion of being stuck on watch. "Your big friend is going to be on restraining duty, just in case the subject fights us."

 

"Then what're you doin this whole time?" Junkrat grumbled, calming down a little now that he knew he wasn't really going to be involved in whatever activities they were doing. Of course, part of him figured this was for the best, as he still was sort of a bag of flailing limbs and not much else, but just because he realized the reasons, it didn't mean he was happy about it. Reaper chuckled softly to himself as they reached the market place, which was still packed with people. The market would be set up for a few more days yet, so if all went well, they could milk this place for all it was worth.

 

"My job." Reaper stuffed his hands in his pockets, full of sass himself. "I'm the kid's personal trainer, aren't I? So I'm going to train him." He grinned. "You and the big guy head behind the stalls, we'll be there in a moment." He nodded, shooing the Junkers off to a back alley he'd picked out. It had little traffic, so they would be undisturbed if they went back there. He led the boy into the crowd, looking around at the people. They were all unawares, and that was perfect.

 

"Right." Reaper leaned down to the boy, whispering softly. "Pick someone you like, anyone you like. Tug on their sleeve and look upset. Sign at them if you want, they won't understand you, but get them to follow you back to the alley. Once you get out of sight, possess them. Understand me?" He asked, and the boy nodded, running off into the crowd. Reaper shifted back into the alley, finding the Junkers milling around, Junkrat kicking around cans with hands in his pockets.

 

The boy appeared a few minutes later, dragging along a young man who seemed bewildered and addled. As soon as they were out of sight, the boy scrambled up the young man's back - much in the same way that he scrambled up Roadhog's arms - and pressed his hands to the young man's skull. This time, however, the victim bucked a little under the possession, and nearly threw the boy to the floor. Reaper watched, seeing the boy struggle against the resistance and persevere over it. Eventually, the young man stilled, but Streetmouse was breathing heavily, still working hard to control him.

 

"Right. Take this knife and throw it." Reaper said, holding out one of the boy's knives. The young man's hand took it, and the boy managed to embed the knife into a nearby box with strength and accuracy. However, the act of throwing the knife seemed to drain the boy a lot, and he shook his head, like he wanted to get off the ride. Roadhog understood, approaching the young man, and when the boy slid off the young man's shoulders, Roadhog quickly knocked him out. His body went limp, and Roadhog laid him down on the ground, the boy sitting in the dirt next to him breathing heavily.

 

"Y'apples, mate?" Junkrat asked, bending down next to the boy. Streetmouse nodded, standing on wobbly legs. He looked more or less okay, if a little tired. Taking over someone took a lot of out him, it looked like, but he was young and he would bounce back quickly. "Y'did bonza, real dinkum bonza."

 

"Next time, don't hold onto it as long." Reaper coached, bending down near the boy. "If the resistance wears you out, don't be afraid to let go. You'll build up strength to hold it longer as you practice." He nodded, ruffling the boy's hat slightly. The kid did good, first time possessing someone resisting them, and Reaper was actually proud. Everything was always harder when someone else was pushing back, and the kid didn't pass out like Reaper thought he would. The kid looked proud too, proud of his accomplishments, and for a second, Reaper felt good about the whole thing.

 

That good feeling didn't last very long.

 

A flashlight cast across the alleyway, hot yellow light across the darkness, and Reaper's blood went cold. Junkrat froze, like a rabbit caught in the eyes of a predator, vibrating slightly, pupils small and eyes wide, and Reaper could tell from his face that whomever was holding the flashlight wasn't good news. Roadhog shifted his hand, just slightly, to Junkrat's shoulder, like he was prepared to take the other in one arm and book it. The light struck the Junkers, and then the body, and a voice broke the silence, unfamiliar and afraid. "What are you doing?" The voice was male, authoritarian, aggravated, and slightly Spanish in tone, though he spoke English all the same. There was another short pause, the light lingering on Junkrat's face - Reaper couldn't see the man's face behind the brightness of the beam, pointed at them, but he could tell it lingered on Junkrat and Roadhog specifically. "Hey, wait, aren't you both wanted?! Hands where I can see them - you're under arrest!" Reaper swore inwardly, because he was police, of course he was police, of course they attracted police to their position, and of _course_ the police recognized the Junkers from their wanted posters. This was the last time he took them _anywhere_.

 

Reaper shifted where he stood, unsure if the Junkers wanted to fight or run but wanting to take his cue from them - he didn't want to fight if they were going to flee, and while he wouldn't feel bad leaving them to fight on their own, he'd get an earful. He looked from the cop back to where Junkrat had been, and realized very quickly that in the second of hesitation, they had gone. Junkrat and Roadhog had bolted, fear on Junkrat's face as he looked over Roadhog's shoulder, running down the alley and away from the cops like their lives depended on it. Reaper instinctually followed after without thinking, bolting after them down the alley, child at his heels, keeping up well despite the other's head start.

 

Part of him didn't know why he was running when he could vanish and teleport at will, but the rest of him didn't want to stop running to ask those questions. That part of him was driven by instinct, by the base parts of his person, by every fear in his heart even when he wasn't even really _afraid_ of the cop, just annoyed by the whole thing. That part of him wasn't trained by the military or born of dying and coming back, but born by being a dark skinned child in Los Angeles in the 21st century, where he was taught that the police were not his friends and he'd be shot before he could speak. He was taught to fear any force like that, and even trained in the military like he was, hearing the police officer shout " _Put your hands up!_ " made his blood run cold and his hands go clammy even though he knew he could survive any shot the man took at him.

 

He looked down to where he thought the boy was, to make sure he wasn't going to go tumbling over the small thing, and of course the boy had vanished, turning invisible and leaving Reaper alone with the cop. The Junkers were gaining ground faster than he was, Roadhog able to sprint quite fast while carrying Junkrat on his shoulder, and Reaper quickly found himself skirting around back alleys and dodging this asshole cop all by himself. He could hear the police officer shouting behind him, aggravated and ready to fire, and he shifted to shadows to avoid any unnecessary damage out of reflex. He'd moved past the point of using his logical thinking brain and was relying on his defensive brain to make all his decisions for him. Of course, the officer _freaked out_ , because rarely do you see people just turn into ghosts, screaming at him to put his hands up as they moved around corners. He didn't stop even as he heard shots ring out, feeling the strange sensation of bullets going through him as a wraith, seeing them impact walls in front of him, and dreading the moment when he couldn't hold the form any longer. He'd missed the opportunity to teleport, as he couldn't slow down and find a place to go at the same time.

 

The officer managed to get incredibly lucky, and as Reaper shifted back to solid, one of the bullets managed to catch Reaper in the knee. He cried out at the sudden surge of pain, mostly in surprise, and he knew this was the beginning of the end. The officer seemed to notice that this actually hurt Reaper - and by god, did it hurt, the knee was a terrible place to get shot in and every step had pain racing up Reaper's leg - and continued to fire wildly, putting another in Reaper's shoulder. Of course, the first shot slowed him the fuck down, because even working through the pain Reaper couldn't really _run_ around a bullet in his knee, but the second shot actually nearly toppled him from the pain. He may have been super human, and undead, but he still felt pain, and getting shot multiple times wasn't a walk in the park. He stumbled, and the officer caught up to him quickly, using his bodyweight to bring Reaper to the ground.

 

The next few hours were a blur of pain. Reaper was handcuffed and put in the back of a police car and driven to a station. They tried to finger print him and spent two hours trying to figure out why Reaper had no prints - his hands came back clean every time, because shadows can't be identified by fingerprints - and then tossed him in a cell. He was alone, and in pain, and while he could function around the bullet wounds he would need to be treated medically. Eventually, they gave him his phone call, and he dialed the only number he knew - Soldier 76's.

 

" _What_." It was the voice of a tired man, and Reaper realized how late it had probably gotten in his haze filled evening.

 

"Jack." Reaper used Soldier 76's first name, and he could hear the other man sit up at the word, suddenly aware of how serious the situation was. "I'm in the local jail, I was arrested."

 

"You _what_?" And there was the disappointed tone, but he could hear the other shifting around on the phone. "Gabriel Reyes, how the _hell_ did you manage to get _arrested_?" He snapped. Reaper leaned against the wall near the phone, trying to find a way to lean where he didn't hurt.

 

"I was out training with the Junkers and the boy and the officer thought he recognized them by the wanted posters." Reaper groaned. "Motherfucker shot me." He gritted his teeth, because his knee was in insane amounts of pain, standing there at the phone. The attending officer didn't seem to notice he called one of their own a motherfucker, or didn't seem to care. He could hear Soldier 76 sigh on the other end of the line.

 

"Alright. I'll get Mercy to come get you. Just don't make them shoot you again, alright?" Soldier 76 grumbled from the other end. Reaper made a face, because he didn't like that Mercy was the one to come get him. He called Soldier 76 for a reason.

 

"Why can't you come get me?" He asked. He didn't want Mercy to fuss over him more than entirely necessary, and if he pissed off Soldier 76 this much by getting arrested he knew Mercy would chew him out. Always a mother figure, even to him.

 

"I told you. Next time we see each other, I'm asking you on a date. And we're not going on a date at three in the morning, _Reyes_." Soldier 76 chuckled, and that was alright. At least he wasn't _pissed_. Just stubborn and spiteful, and Reaper could deal with stubborn and spiteful. Reaper chuckled as well, a little pained, but better than before.

 

"You better hurry up on that date, then, _Morrison_ , because if I finish the kid's training first, I'm not beholden to your little promises like you are." He grinned, the threat of death sweet in his mouth, something he had almost forgotten he wanted, and Soldier 76 chuckled over the phone line.

 

"We'll see, Reyes. We'll see." He said, and he hung up, leaving Reaper alone in the jail with the officer and nothing else. He sighed, because part of him liked the idea of going on a date more than murdering Soldier 76, and he hated that part of him so much, and hated still that the idea of a date was still pretty nice sounding even with all that hatred of it. His only saving grace, he told himself, was that he was in pain, and everything sounds better when you're hurting. He told himself that the entire time he waited for Mercy to arrive, told himself that while ignoring her all the way home, told himself that while she patched him up, and even told himself that as he watched the sun rise. But as he fell asleep in a corner of the base, wrapped up in his coat, he couldn't help but think that if they went on a date and he liked it, it wouldn't be terrible if he changed his mind.


	16. Renmen

Reaper woke up the next morning to Junkrat leaning on his hiding place, shouting at him loudly. He had found a ledge fairly high up to sleep on, and the Junker has his arms on the surface, his head on his wrists. Reaper tried not to look startled at the sudden loud noise, and thanked everything that he still had his mask on - he'd put it on after getting out of Mercy's office as sort of an attempt to return to normalcy, but considering how he woke up it didn't exactly work.

 

"What." Reaper hissed, more than a little livid that the Junker had not only found him, but woken him. Junkrat grinned, a little sheepishly, before attempting to scrabble up onto the ledge and succeeding, if a little ungracefully.

 

"Well, fer one, wanted t'pologize fer leavin' y'." Junkrat said, kneeling next to Reaper, still wearing the same clothes from the day before. "Roadie didn't want no dumb blue t'catch us 'cause a _that_ , y'understand." He nodded, like Reaper should nod along. "Twenty-five million each is a bit of a number t'just _give 'um_." Reaper frowned under the mask at that, because honestly, he didn't know the Junkers even had a bounty, let alone one for twenty-five million dollars, especially for just one of them. He briefly wondered what they did to get such a high price, but decided against asking, because Junkrat had more to say, and he didn't want to make the conversation go _forever_.

 

"Fer two, old man told me t'give you this, 'n t'help you out with any instructions, if 'm able." Junkrat stuck out his hand, holding out a small envelope. It was crisp, with clean edges, some holdover from the old Overwatch stock, and only slightly bent in the middle. "Might've crumpled it a tad." Junkrat admitted, watching Reaper take it. He turned it over in his hands, pushing up his mask to get a better look and making his frown visible. It was definitely from the old Overwatch files, one of the envelopes they used to invite new recruits in, made to look super fancy at a cheap price. It had _Gabriel Reyes_ on the front in Soldier 76's unmistakable scrawl - tiny, slightly curling, but with the obvious shake of someone who didn't focus on perfecting their handwriting. It was sealed on the back with a sticker made to look like wax, and Reaper chuckled. Those were his idea, back in the day - cheaper than actually melting wax, but it added something to the look.

 

Reaper tore the sticker off - and it was cheap and didn't even tear, just pealed all the way off in one fluid motion - popping open the seal on the letter. Inside was a small note, again in Soldier 76's handwriting, smaller and slightly more shaky. Reaper read it over, holding it close to his face to read it, as Soldier 76's handwriting was excruciatingly tiny.

 

_Reyes-_ It started, because Jack Morrison was a terrible letter writer, _I told you I wouldn't see you until I asked you on a date. You know I never break promises, and this is one I wanted to see through to the end. With this in mind, I want you to meet me at the Sunborn Gibrlatar hotel at 10 o'clock PM, sharp. Wear something elegant (not black tie), and bring a change of clothes-_ And here, Soldier 76 had added _and maybe a bathing suit? If you want to swim, that is,_ in the margins of the letter. _My intentions were to take you out for drinks there, and then stay the night, but we can stay as long into the next day as you wish. I can even try and book a second night, if you really want to. And yes, Reyes. This is in fact a date. I'll see you there._ He signed it _Jack Morrison_ , in a flourish Reaper hadn't seen him sign his name with for years.

 

"So what's it say?" Junkrat asked, shuffling forward slightly. "Y'been starin' at that thing with yer mouth all agog fer a while, s'good? Bad?" He leaned in more, and Reaper finally looked up to glare at him. This invite was a _huge deal_ , and Reaper didn't know exactly how to react. The Sunborn Gibraltar wasn't just a hotel, but a _yacht_ , five star hotel and bar and restaurant combo floating out off the coast. They'd managed to survive the worst of the wars by simply sailing out, and the Overwatch heroes all had, at one point or another, massive discounts to their room rates for giving them warning enough to get the fuck out before shit hit the fan. No wonder Morrison had told the Junker to help Reaper out - he needed to _pack_ if they were staying a night.

 

"Do you have a bag I could borrow?" Reaper asked, and he asked it in a voice that didn't _like_ asking for help, but all his things were back at Talon headquarters and he couldn't just dip back halfway across the world to get a travel bag and a suit. "And I need to raid some closets."

 

"If yer lookin' fer dressin' advice, I'd ask Mercy or Hog. I don't see too well." Junkrat nodded, hopping down from the ledge. "But I kin getcha th'bag. Y'gonna give me th'drum on that letter, or is it a secret?" Junkrat asked, watching Reaper hop down off the ledge after him. Reaper grumbled a little, folding the letter very carefully and putting it in an inside pocket.

 

"No." He simply said, and to whether that was _no, it's not a secret_ or _no, I won't tell you_ wasn't clear, but he said nothing else. "Get the bag. I'll find your _friend_. I don't want Mercy involved, she'll start asking questions." He knew better than to get her involved, because she'd be able to pick up that it was a date, and Soldier 76 probably already spoke to her about it, so she'd start asking questions. Back when they were a thing in Overwatch, she was invested in them as much as they were, and while he knew part of her investment was to keep the group alive, the rest of him wondered if she liked holding stock in two other queers that were out and happy, like maybe she couldn't be out, or happy, or in a relationship, and she liked knowing at least others could.

 

Finding the bag was easy. Junkrat had a spare ammo pack that was big enough to hold a few things clothing wise, and it was good enough. Getting Reaper's clothes was significantly harder. His room was locked tight, locked with a password he didn't remember, and in the end they had to resort to blowing the whole damn door off. This was _probably_ why Jack had asked Junkrat to help out, because he knew Reaper's room was locked tight. Inside, it was sparse, undecorated, a few old photos taped to the wall and not much else. Junkrat took a moment to look at the photos as Reaper moved about the room, attempting to see what was still useful after years of disuse. The photos were of Reyes and Jack and occasionally others - a few selfies of the two men, a few more formal pictures - and in most of them, they looked happy. Reaper silently shifted up behind Junkrat and snatched the photo out of his hands, looking at him like he was witnessing something private.

 

"Out." He snapped, pointing for the door. "I'm not changing with you in here." He ushered Junkrat out, a little forcefully, and then placed the door back where it should be, though it wasn't on its hinges anymore. Junkrat and Roadhog hovered outside, Roadhog having only stayed around because explosives were involved and he didn't trust the other Junker to not lose another limb. They hung around for fifteen minutes before Reaper reappeared, pulling down the door and not bothering to try and open it like a normal person again. He had taken the time to shave, cleaning up his scraggly beard a little, and he'd brushed what hair they could see under the beanie he still wore. Somehow, he'd managed to find an old suit of his that wasn't in terrible shape, and he'd touched it up as best he could. It was charcoal gray, with a black shirt, black belt, black shoes and a sleek black tie, and with the little bit of TLC he'd given it, it actually looked very good on him. Roadhog crossed his arms, nodding a bit and grumbling something that Junkrat helpfully repeated.

 

"Roadie's right, mate, lose the toboggan 'n you'll be apples." Junkrat pointed to the beanie, and Reaper put a hand on his head as though to hold it on.

 

"No." He snapped back, feeling a little odd about arguing clothes with a half-irradiated Junker who normally only wore shorts and who rarely dressed himself and said half irradiated Junker's oversized bodyguard who's pants barely fit his waist in the first place and who also rarely wore a shirt. They seemed like the exact opposite people to be the fashion police, but they were at least stubborn enough for the job.

 

"Why not?" Junkrat asked, crossing his arms and effectively blocking the exit. "Figured out y'goin' on a date. Don'tcha wanna look yer best?" He asked. Of course he figured out what this was, Reaper wasn't that surprised. Junkrat wasn't _stupid_ , just addled and a little bomb mad. But he was smart, and Reaper grumbled a little at getting caught anyway.

 

"I get cold." He admitted, finally, crossing his arms and looking anywhere but the Junkers. "I have to keep it on or I'll get too cold. It's a perk of being dead." He crossed his arms, sighing heavily. He'd found a watch along with his suit and he checked it - it was nine thirty. It had taken them literally all day, and he needed to leave. "I need to go." He said, out loud, heading for the exit. Junkrat followed, Roadhog tailing behind.

 

"Y'need a ride?"

 

~*~

 

Reaper was never riding in Roadhog's motorcycle sidecar _again_. It didn't have seatbelts, it didn't even have a _seat_ , and Roadhog drove like a maniac. A careful maniac, as they never crashed, but he raced through the streets like he owned them. Luckily Reyes was already dead, but he didn't want anything to happen to his only suit. He didn't have anything nice to change into if they did crash. Junkrat didn't seem to mind, riding in the sidecar happily like a dog with his head out the window, and the boy even came along, riding in Roadhog's lap.

 

They pulled up to the address Reyes gave them, and Junkrat's eyes went _wide_. "Hooley dooley..." He muttered, holding onto the sidecar as Reaper stepped out and onto the sidewalk. "Didn't say y'd be goin' on a cruise, mate."

 

"It's not a cruise ship, it's a _yacht_ , and it doesn't _go_ anywhere." Reaper corrected. He felt a little odd, standing there in a nice, crisp suit, talking to two dirty men and their son in a motorcycle that sputtered black smoke every so often. "Just.. I'll be fine. Go home."

 

"We'll hold down th'fort fer ya!" Junkrat nodded deeply, waving goodbye. The boy waved from the seat as well, blowing Reaper a kiss. "You jus' relax on yer date, right mate?" Junkrat said, and Roadhog sped off before Reaper could say much else, the motorcycle belching hot smoke in its wake. Reyes sighed - he wanted to be embarrassed, but the kid wished him good luck in his own way, and the other two at least meant well. It boded ill for his whole _kill them eventually_ plan, but at this point he didn't have the mental capacity to focus on that. He needed to focus on finding Morrison and figuring out what the fuck the man thought he was doing, having them spend a night on the most expensive hotel in the area.

 

Inside, it was warm, partially lit but well kept, true to a five star hotel fashion. Reaper stood in the doorway a moment before taking off his beanie, ruffling his hair a little. It was warm enough that he didn't need it, and it made him self-conscious a little to have it on when everyone else looked either very nice, or rich-white-yacht-owner beach chic. He at least didn't look out of place in the suit, and a lady approached him quickly, wearing a dark staff uniform. "Name?" She asked, leading him over to a small podium of guest reservations.

 

"I'm here with a, uh, Jack Morrison?" He tried the man's real name, hoping the fucker didn't use a fake to make the reservation. The lady looked for a moment, a smile on her face that was warm and welcoming, and then she found a name and nodded along.

 

"Ah, you must be Mr. Morrison's plus one." She said, and her accent was slightly Spanish and very comforting to Reyes, though he resisted the urge to speak Spanish to her. His dialect was very different, and he didn't want to introduce any unneeded communication barriers to this conversation. "He is currently at the La Sala Sapphire Bar, if you would like to join him." She closed the book, pulling over another staff member. "We'll be happy to take your bag to the room for you, sir."

 

"Uh, sure." Reyes handed over the hat and the bag, which was a little dirty and which made the staffer look a little concerned, but they didn't say anything, bustling towards a hallway. The first staffer led him in the other direction, down a hall and a few steps of stairs. The stairs opened up into a bar, more dimly lit than the main area. It was mostly white with black accents, that sharp contrast elegant, and it was lit by blue crystals and blue lights, casting a sapphire glow across the place. It was beautiful, and Reyes spotted Jack immediately, leaving the staffer behind as he approached. Jack was sitting at the bar, talking quietly to the bartender, a drink in his hand. He had on a black suit, with a black shirt and a blue tie, and he'd brushed his hair and tried to look nicer. Gabriel approached, and the bartender noticed him, gesturing to him softly, making Jack turn. Morrison's face lit up, and in that moment Reyes realized that Morrison really wanted this, and honestly, so did he.

 

"Gabe." Jack said as he stood. He breathed out Reye's name like he was going to be saved by it, like it was a last breath before going under. "You look... wow, you look fantastic. I didn't think you still had that suit." Jack ruffled his hair awkwardly, smiling brightly. They stood apart from each other for a long moment, awkward in their movements, like it was some sort of first date, like they hadn't been together for years, like this was a first new step towards something strange, taking each other in. Blue lights cast across their faces, and music played in the background softly. "Drink?" Jack eventually asked, gesturing to the bar, and Gabriel shrugged a sure, following him to sit down.

 

"You went all the way, didn't you? Spared no expense?" He asked, putting his elbows on the bar. This place was fancy as fuck - honestly, when Reyes said he didn't want to get coffee, he didn't expect the opposite to happen The bartender approached, smiling that warm, welcoming smile, taking Morrison's old glass.

 

"What can I get you?" He asked Reyes, and Gabriel thought for a long moment.

 

"Shot of tequila, Sangrita verde chaser, and a margarita." He ordered. The bartender nodded, turning to Jack.

 

"Another scotch?" He asked, and Morrison nodded, watching as the bartender left them alone They sat in silence for a few moments, the only sounds the music wafting softly from the other end of the bar. Eventually the bartender came back, setting down a scotch with no ice in front of Jack, and handing Reyes his shot, chaser and margarita. There was a cherry on top of the margarita, and the chaser had a nice spiced smell to it. Reyes didn't waste time in taking the shot, and the chaser was pleasantly hot.

 

"I still don't understand why you like tequila." Jack said, breaking their awkward silence. He smiled a little, turning to Gabriel, scotch in hand. He kind of looked like Sean Connery, dressed like he was, white hair and cheeky sort of smile. He was awkward and unsure how to proceed, and part of Gabe thought that was kind of adorable, and the rest of him really loved the Most Interesting Man sort of look. He scoffed, taking a sip of his margarita and taking a moment to be surprised at how good it was, before popping the cherry in his mouth. Of course, this was a five god damn star bar, but he was still ultimately surprised.

 

"I still don't understand why you like scotch, but I don't question it." Reyes quipped back, turning to lean back against the bar. "I mean, I have every right to make fun of your beer taste, too, but I don't. I should, but I don't."   


"There is _nothing_ wrong with Budweiser." Jack grumbled, good naturedly. They were sitting a stool apart, and after a moment, he shifted over so they were sitting next to each other. "I've seen you make bloody marys, you can't talk shit about my alcohol preferences. I at least can't help what's in mine."

 

"What's wrong with my bloody marys?" Reyes laughed, and honestly, he hadn't laughed like that since Dorado. Something about this whole thing made him feel like he was back in the old days, and it felt great. It wasn't even the alcohol, even as he finished his margarita and set the glass down. Jack's breath smelled like scotch, and it was familiar and heady and Reyes just wanted that smell to linger forever. Sure, he hated scotch, but he loved the smell.

 

"You shotgun Corona into them, that's what's wrong." Jack laughed, and every movement he made closed the distance, made them closer, and Reyes moved into it, because the closeness was comforting and wonderful.

 

"Look, I did that once." Gabe defended himself, turning to the bartender and ordering another margarita, while Jack got another scotch, finishing his second one. They'd been talking slowly, quietly, and the hours were ticking by, but the alcohol was starting to set in for Reyes and he was feeling quite nice. Even having his drink selection accosted as he was, he felt nice.

 

"I've watched you secretly empty coronoitas into your glass, don't you lie to me, mister." Jack laughed, leaning back again against the bar. The empty space felt weird, and Reyes turned to fill it, leaning in to defend his drinking abilities. Sure, fine, emptying beer into a vodka drink was a terrible habit, but he liked the taste, and he never put ice in the things just for that reason.

 

"You know that's what they're for, right?" Gabriel explained, picking up his new margarita and popping the cherry off the stem. It was a long stem, and he looked at it for a moment, even as Jack waxed poetic about _just because you're supposed to doesn't mean you should_. After a second, when the body of the cherry was gone, Reyes popped the stem into his mouth. He hadn't done this trick in years, but even the idea of it stopped Jack's tirade in its tracks. Morrison watched in fascination as Reyes worked a moment, moving the stem around in his mouth before pulling out the stem - tied perfectly in a knot. He put the stem down in front of Morrison, and the other turned red to the ears almost immediately.

 

"Good to know I can still stop you in your tracks." Reyes grinned. He loved having that much mental control over Jack, who had always been a little more susceptible to showing off his thoughts. That's what made him a good leader, in the end, being able to be so open about his thoughts and feelings, and then to be able to hide them behind a mask for the public. But it also made him too much fun to mess with, especially when he was too drunk to hide. Jack shot him a look that was mostly embarrassed and a little chastising, and Gabriel laughed at the face. "Look, you asked me out here. I'm just doing my part." He smiled. There was a paused, and Jack's face fell into something slightly more sad.

 

"You do _want_ to be here, right?" Jack asked, head on the counter, running his forefinger over the lip of his empty glass as he stared at it. Reyes looked at him, the mood suddenly different and throwing him off, because of course he wanted to be there. But Jack didn't understand that, for some reason, and maybe thought there was some pity there. That Reyes was just _doing his part_. Reyes shifted to the side of his seat, wrapping an arm around Jack's back in a comforting way. Sometimes Jack would get like this, and this was fairly normal. Being so open and honest and then hiding it like it was nothing meant that doubt seeped into his mind a lot, and he spent a lot of his time at Overwatch afraid that they would see through him and see that he barely knew what he was doing half the time. He was a soldier, not a leader, not a father, and neither was Reyes, but he wasn't ever forced to be one, not in the way Morrison was.

 

"How many times have I done things I didn't want to?" Reyes asked, voice a little hard. Jack didn't respond, and Gabriel reached out, taking the man's face in his hands and making him look up. His grip was a little hard, but he needed the other man to look him in the fucking face when he spoke. "None. Not once. I don't do _shit_ if I don't want to, and you know that. You know exactly how much I protest when I don't want to do things. I went on walks with you because I like going on walks with you, I trained the kid because in the end I fuckin' like training the kid. And I came out here because you promised me a god damn date, Morrison, and I'm not gonna be that much of a dick to ask if everything we did was a date only to come to the actual date out of god damn pity. If I didn't want to be here you'd have one of the fuckin' Junkers in here with _No_ written on a god damn card out of spite." Reyes leaned forward, and Jack looked up at him with trusting eyes.

 

Neither of them were sure who moved, but a moment later they were locked in a kiss, Jack's hands reaching for the side of Reye's face, Jack's arms pushing him up so he was partially in Reyes lap. When they parted, Gabriel put his forehead against the other man's forehead, holding him there, close. "Look, can we get past the awkward part of this shit already? I'm fuckin' done with the hand wringing part of this. We dated for _years_ , Jack. I watched you shit on the regular. Either we fall back into how we were, or we don't do this. You want to be here, I want to be here, you booked a god damn five star hotel, let's fuckin' enjoy this shit."

 

"Sorry, I'm just...." Morrison let out the end of his sentence as a sigh and a partial laugh, shifting back into his seat. "I didn't want to push it." He pressed a hand to his forehead, smiling a little, almost a little teary in a drunken way. "That's why I waited so long to even ask, I just wanted to make sure I didn't push too hard." He chuckled, almost relieved. The bartender wandered over, hanging back, and when Jack stopped speaking, he leaned in. Reyes nearly decked him for sneaking up on them, but managed to stay his hand.

 

"Just so you both know, we're closed ten minutes ago." He said, smiling that warm, welcoming staff smile. He looked like he'd been let in on a secret, and Gabriel suddenly wanted to wipe the smile off his face. He hadn't realized they were alone in the bar and the music had stopped, and the bartender had been watching for a while to see when they'd have a moment to talk to him. It was a little creepy, to be honest. "If you want, the Sky bar is open until one, it's just upstairs." He gestured to the stairs, and Jack nodded, pulling money out of his pocket and putting it on the counter.

 

"Thanks." He smiled, standing on uneasy legs. The best way to tell how drunk someone is, is to watch them walk after sitting for a long time. He wobbled a bit, but righted himself, straightening his tie like a dignified gentleman. "Keep the change." He nodded, and the bartender nodded, and Reyes noticed that Jack had left eighty bucks on the counter. Now, Reyes may have been slightly drunk himself, but he remembered very specifically that the new Overwatch whatever they were didn't actually _pay_ much of anything. He stood, following the other man out of the bar, stumbling a little himself, and having to catch up to support the other before he fell over.

 

"Where the fuck did you get money to fund this?" He asked, putting an arm around Jack before the slow rock of the boat could throw him over. They hadn't noticed while sitting, but the boat rocked gently with the waves, and now trying to walk was difficult. The Sky bar was clearly labeled, and they made their way up a set of stairs as they talked.

 

"Overwatch had an emergency fund." Jack said, firm hand on the railing and the other on Reyes's shoulder. "We never used it, so it stayed in the bank, collecting interest. This isn't so much an emergency, but, well." He chuckled, giving Reyes a smile. "I'd say it's a good use all the same."

 

"So you're stealing from Overwatch to fund a date with me?" Reyes laughed, actually truly laughed. "You should consider joining Talon if you're willing to steal _that_ much." He chuckled. The Sky Bar was situated on one of the top decks, with a bar under a small roof area. The deck was strewn with small lights, and the bar itself had black-lights casting a purple glow onto the glasses. They meandered to the bar, ordering more drinks - another shot, another chaser, another scotch and another margarita, because neither of them wanted to care about what they drank - and after downing the shot and chaser, they took what was left to seats at the edge of the deck.

 

Before them, the ocean stretched, dark miles of rolling surf, going for impossible distances. Above them, the sky was clear, dark and patterned with bright lights, the starts going on for miles. The war did wonders for light pollution in most areas, and the sky never looked clearer. They sat down on some chairs, the ocean's gentle roar in the background, the deep base pulse of a nearby club in the throes of its most potent hour in the distance. They relaxed next to each other at a table, close together. "I wouldn't join Talon. I don't like how the operate. You were always more the one for the hard stuff." Jack chuckled, sipping at his scotch slowly, staring out at the ocean like it would speak to him some unknowable secrets about life. They sat there in the quiet, this time less awkward and more comfortable with the silence, sipping at their drinks with no rush to sustain their level of drunkeness.

 

"Gabriel, I'm sorry." Jack eventually said, finishing his scotch in a single swallow. "For Switzerland, for the explosion. I don't... I don't know if I'm all to blame, or mostly to blame, but I'm sorry." He stared at his empty glass, looking through it to the ocean. Reyes looked at him, swirling the ice in his glass, quiet. Should he also apologize? He didn't know. He probably should, but part of him didn't want to. Part of him didn't want to admit that he had a hand in all the terrible things he blamed Morrison for. Jack spoke again before he could, reading the silence on his shoulders. "You don't have to apologize. I understand. It was a shit situation. We could have both made it better, but just the fact that you're right here and not somewhere else is apology enough." He smiled, setting his glass down on the table. Reyes nodded, quiet, thinking, finishing his drink and setting the glass down. His eyes cast across the deck to the night club just down the street, pulsing lonely in the moonlight.

 

"Pay the tab." He said, standing suddenly, wobbling a little on his own shaky legs. He reached down for Jack's hand, pulling him quickly to his feet. "I want to go to the club." He nodded, like he needed to rush the decision before he changed his mind. Reyes had never really been one for the club scene, because loud music and happy people were never something he really wanted to be around. It was always too close and too busy for his taste. But they needed to move on from the heavy conversations, and he needed an excuse to get closer to Jack, and a club was perfect. They couldn't talk much in a club, not this heavily, not this sad. One trip would be fine. "I want to take off our jackets and go to the club and get shitty mixed drinks and dance until they close." He tugged Jack along to the bar, unaware that the other was nodding along with the idea, bewildered but okay with it. Jack paid the tab, before the two rushed off down the stairs again, this time Jack in the lead.

 

The room wasn't very far away, and they stumbled into it, nudging each other playfully as they took off their jackets and ties. It was a smallish room, a ship's suite with a single, large bed and a nice bathroom. The walls were gold, the sheets white, and the accents red, and it looked like they were in the lap of luxury. Reye's bag was on the vanity, and Jack's bag was next to it. They tossed them haphazardly across the bed, Reyes taking a second to shove the other man playfully at the mattress, before they left again. They looked less stuffy now, black shirts and black pants and open shirt fronts, Reye's hair ruffled slightly.

 

The club wasn't that far away, just a short walk down the busy streets. They smelled like alcohol, stumbling along on the sidewalks, hanging off each other, trying to look more composed, but Reyes was determined not to let the night turn down again. Yes, they may have been old drunk men stumbling together down the street, but they weren't old _sad_ drunk men, and that was enough for him. The club was packed, but the bouncer didn't turn them away, letting them inside. It was dark and warm, and smelled of bodies and alcohol, and they moved through it hand in hand like they were wading through a sea. Jack found an empty space at the bar, and over the noise they managed to get two more drinks - something stupid and fruity on special, because they didn't have scotch Jack liked and Reyes was not taking shots of tequila without some sort of chaser and all they had was soda. The drinks tasted pretty decent, but Reyes could tell they were heavy with alcohol and heavier with sugar, and that was fine.

 

They were shuffled into the crowd, and for a long time, it was just Gabe, Jack, the music, and nothing else. The rest of the crowd was like some unnoticed mass of bodies and color, the men close together, having to lean in to speak to each other, the beat loud. It was a surreal experience, like a dream, colors washing over their faces, alcohol surging through them, bodies close and touching and pressed together whether they wanted it or not. When they kissed again, Jack's lips tasted like sugar and bitter vodka and still a little like scotch, and the awkwardness of the whole night seemed to fly away from them as they attempted to dance. Of course, Jack had no rhythm, but that was fine - attempting to watch him dance in the strange solitude of the moment was hysterical, and Reyes hadn't smiled as much in one night in so many years that he didn't care.

 

The only reason they left was because the club was closing. It was two in the morning, and they stumbled out more drunk than they stumbled in, laughing and singing loudly at each other. No one stared, as they were part of the crowd now, more drunk people flooding out around them. They were loud and rowdy and close, constantly in contact, holding onto each other as they shouted old stories at each other, reminding each other of stupid things from their past in loud, music addled voices. They managed to quiet down to giggles as whispers as they wandered back into the hotel, mostly loud hisses of "shh!" at each other as they giggled, stumbling down the rocking hallways.

 

Reyes hadn't expected the night to go like this, but he didn't mind. He hadn't expected any of this to go like this, but he was happy. Even as they fell into bed together, clothes coming off, tasting of sugar and scotch and lime and alcohol, Reyes didn't mind. He didn't think he'd be happy because he didn't think they'd be able to get past what happened, and Jack had proved him wrong. They were perfectly capable of moving on past the terrible things they did, and that was fine by him. He still _loved_ Jack Morrison, and it was a weird twisted sense of that love that drove him to want to murder the other man, and it was that same weird love that saved Jack's life. He wouldn't kill the other man, not now, not anymore. Not after that night, because even though he warned himself not to, he still managed to fall into the other's arms.

 

~*~

 

They woke up the next morning, bathed in the light of the open window. Reyes was naked, curled around Jack's sleeping form, and black smoke leaked from his arms and legs, but he was warm and felt wonderful. His head didn't hurt - the real perks of being undead, no hangovers - and he wasn't cold like he woke up most mornings. He was surprised that alcohol affected him as much as it did, but he didn't mind. He remembered everything, and that was good enough, because he didn't have any regrets. He pressed a sleepy kiss to the corner of Jack's mouth, and the other stirred, putting his hands on his head in pain. Of course, Jack wasn't as lucky. "Morning." Reyes smiled, and Jack looked over at him, and smiled past the pain in his eyes.

 

"You know, I dreamed for years of waking up like this again." He said. He was always a sentimental bastard, and Gabe chuckled at the words. "Am I dreaming?"

 

"You wouldn't be hungover if you were. So no, this isn't a dream. Yes, I'm in this bed, and yes, I'm also getting out of this bed before I fall back asleep." Gabe grinned, putting a hand on Jack's face before climbing out of bed. His legs were still stumblely, but he managed to make it to the vanity, pulling his change of clothes out of his bag. He'd feel better after a cup of coffee.

 

"Put on a bathing suit. There's a pool, we can probably get breakfast there." Morrison said, sitting up in bed. "I think eating something will help my head, and I'd like to make the most of the pool while we're here." He pulled himself out of bed, standing a moment before moving to the vanity as well, like he was trying to right himself from being too dizzy. "Coffee will be good. I know they have coffee." He nodded along, pulling out a blue bathing suit and a collared shirt with a floral, Hawaiian print. He remembered wearing the same trunks when he went swimming in Hawaii with the Junkers, and he looked back on that moment fondly as one that led to this one. He also pulled out a bottle of pain medication, taking two quickly. Reyes had found a pair of black trunks and a black t-shirt in his drawers, and had changed quickly, heading for the doorway and putting on a pair of shades. He was hungry, and coffee beckoned.

 

The pool bar was on the topmost deck, and it took a lot of stumbling upstairs to get to. It was bright out, and Jack didn't think to bring sunglasses, so Reyes gave up his pair to the other man begrudgingly. Jack seemed grateful, at least, and actually in need of the tinted lenses, where Reyes only wore them to look cool. The deck was calm, quiet, the food was good and the coffee was better, and they talked quietly over their second cups relaxing in sun chairs.

 

"Y'know," Reyes said, sipping at his coffee and watching another young couple enjoying breakfast, seeing the boy and girl eye them occasionally and giggle to themselves. They were probably pointing out that two old men were sitting together, and the girl seemed a little bit weirded out, like the two old men would creep on _her_. Reyes resisted the urge to tell her that she wasn't his type. "I think maybe, after all this, I won't kill you." He said, and it was a big admission. To go back on his promise like that was a big deal, and Jack smiled, a bright and warming smile.

 

"That's good to know I won't die so soon. I've been worrying about telling the Junkers." Morrison hummed into his coffee, eyes closed behind the shades. "It's a weight off my shoulders."

 

"Eh, well, I figure if we're... actually a thing now, considering, that you living with me the rest of your life is punishment enough." Reyes had a joking tone, but there was some seriousness to it, somewhere between self hatred and a threat. "We're a thing again... right?" He wanted to be sure that he knew whether this was a one-time thing or not. That made a big difference, and if this was a one time thing he might have to put Morrison's blood back on his wish list.

 

"I'd say we're a thing again." Morrison smiled, sitting up and leaning over to Reyes's chair. "Unless you'd rather us not be. I'd be okay with living alone as my punishment, after this."

 

"Mm, I'm good with torturing you to the end of our days personally." Gabe grinned, pulling the other man down into a kiss. The girl across the way balked and turned away like she was embarrassed. Good. Make her suffer for thinking they were creepy old men. The true gay agenda, Reyes told himself. "One condition, though."

 

"Mm, I'm listening." Jack said, sitting back and putting his feet up again.

 

"I'd like to stay another night. You've got to test everything multiple times, don't you?" He grinned, and Jack turned a little pink at the suggestion. He was always the more modest one of the two of them, preferring clandestine meetings in closets and holding hands under the table than anything out in the open, and even though they shared open kisses, he was still embarrassed.

 

"Alright, I'll call down to the service desk in a bit. Need to hold the room one more night for me and my _boyfriend_." He tried to use the word to embarrass Reyes as much as he was embarrassed by the suggestion, but it didn't work. It just made Gabriel grin. He liked hearing that word again. He liked being back in things with Morrison again. It felt good, and he could stay like that forever if he wanted, and god help anything that fucked it up again.


	17. Rayi

They spent four nights at that hotel, and there was a difference in Reye's demeanor when he returned. The next day of training, he was lax, welcoming, easy going and not pushy. He let the boy get a break from the hard workouts, and even spent a decent amount of time just showing the kid how to dismantle a gun just for the sake of it. Junkrat knew better than to ask, of course - every time he opened his mouth to say something about it, he'd get a glare so sharp it could sheer leaves off a tree - but he grinned at the change all the same. It was a wonderful thing, and he liked it a lot.

 

Streetmouse, however, didn't get the implications of asking questions, and while Reyes was showing him how guns work, he started asking questions. _Where did you go_? He asked, at first. Reaper smiled softly, sitting on the floor in the corner with the boy in his lap, signing things up at Reyes and staring at his lips when he spoke. Reyes had rarely gotten so close with the child, so even that demeanor was new and nice, and Junkrat watched warily from afar, working on his grenade launcher half-assedly.

 

"We went to a hotel that was also a boat." Reyes said, pushing the kid's hat out of the way and putting the clip back in the barrel of the handgun. He put the handgun on the ground beside him, settling back in for the conversation. "We stayed there a few nights."

 

_You smile more._ The boy signed, grinning at the indication of it. _Are you feeling well?_ He looked a little concerned, even with the smile, turning in Reyes's lap to face him better and see his lips. The boy was a little taller now, and sitting in Reye's lap, he was only just looking up at the man's face.

 

"I'm fine." Reaper smiled, and the boy reached out, pressing his hands into Reye's cheeks to try and stifle the smile. This caused Reaper to laugh, taking the boy's hands in his own to move them from his face so he could speak again. "Me and 76 just talked a bit, is all. We were fighting before, and now we're not fighting anymore." He shrugged, because it wasn't a lie.

 

_Papa said you fought a lot._ The boy signed, nodding along. _I watched Uncle 76 talk to Papa about what happened. He said you killed him, and he killed you_. There was a small amount of sadness there, and Reyes spoke quickly to stifle it. No more sadness around Switzerland, he had promised himself, and that included from the boy.

 

"That's not entirely wrong, but it's more complicated than that." Reaper sighed, leaning back against the wall and pulling the boy closer in his lap. Rehashing all this to a child was tough work, and he realized why it was probably good that the Junkers were the boy's parents, as he wouldn't know how to raise a child. "We both did things wrong, and we both got blown up. I died, and he almost died, and we were both mad at the other for doing it."

 

_But you're not mad anymore?_ The boy asked, eyes curious and wide. He was all innocence, and Reyes couldn't be mad at him for asking.

 

"No, we're not mad anymore. We're both really happy now, in fact." He smiled, and the boy nodded, thinking hard before he signed again.

 

_Are you like Papa and Poaka now?_ He asked, and Reyes looked at the boy in confusion, which prompted the boy to try and explain. _Papa and Poaka hold hands and sit in each other's laps and sometimes press their faces together and its gross. Are you and Uncle 76 like that now_? He signed. Reaper laughed, loud and long, because the image of the boy witnessing the Junkers kissing was too funny, and it felt strange to label what he had with Morrison in the same way, even if it was right.

 

"Mostly, yeah." He chuckled, and it was a weird admission. The boy jumped up to his feet, bouncing a little as he signed, excited.

 

_Are you married now? Papa and Poaka say they're married, and it means they share stuff, but they're not like Real Married. Are you married now? Are you gonna get Real Married?_ He asked. Reaper paused a minute, looking to Junkrat, who only looked up when he saw Reaper look his way.

 

"He says you're.... married?" He asked, and Junkrat barked a laugh, hobbling over and picking the boy up, setting the small thing on his shoulders.

 

"By Junker standards, 'course. By yer standards, don't need t'be." He grinned, bouncing the boy on his shoulders. "C'mon, Mousey. Let's leave ol'show pony alone fer now, let 'm get settled after 'is stay away, ye?" He nodded, and the boy seemed okay with it. "Don't worry, mate, we'll finish this another day. No rush no more, right?" He grinned, and Reaper had to smile back at him. He hated that Junkrat was right, but he was. The two left, the boy signing at Junkrat about marriage and what marriage meant, and he was left alone early from his work day. He decided it would be a good time to go visit Morrison, who was probably with Mercy in the medical ward. He needed to lay more kisses on Jack's face, and he didn't care if Mercy saw them.

 

He walked that way, and as he neared the main medical room, he heard talking. He wouldn't have stopped had he not heard his name said, but he did, so he paused right outside the door. Morrison was talking to Mercy, quietly, quickly, short of breath and a small laugh in his voice.

 

"I made a deal with him, Angela. I had to, I didn't have a choice. Reyes had me literally up against a rock and a hard place." He said, and he could hear Mercy bustling around, almost a little angrily.

 

"You told him he could kill you?!" She half raised her voice, and emphatic hushing was the only thing that made her drop it again Reaper chuckled, deciding to remain outside, because Morrison spilling the beans to Mercy about what he did was not a conversation he wanted part of.

 

"Yes. He might have killed me right then if I hadn't. But it's okay, he's not going to." Jack shuffled around, breathless and happy, and when he spoke again, he spoke a little louder, like he didn't know Reyes was standing outside. "I took him on a date the other night. He's happy again. He won't kill me anymore, so I fixed it. I fixed the whole thing, I worked it out. I'll be fine, the child has been trained, it's all okay now." The way he worded it, it sounded like he'd been planning this whole thing as an act of saving his own ass rather than because he wanted to, and something in Reaper _snapped_.

 

His form seemed to explode into shadows in the hallway, tendrils ripping from his form and turning the hallway dark. He was lucky, the shadows seemed to swallow his screams as he processed the information given to him, and boy did he _scream_. Soldier 76 hadn't taken him on a date because he wanted to date, he'd done the whole thing to save his own skin. How _dare_ he, Reaper thought, pulling at his own face with shadowed fingers, tearing his own face into shadows, the hallway slipping into darkness around him, how fucking _dare_ he. Reaper was betrayed, so betrayed, and every part of him broke, screaming into the void, and when he surfaced from that depth of despair, he was _livid_. Smoke leaked from every part of him, his mouth, his eyes, his skin, and his eyes were how they were supposed to be, white pale and bloodshot. He pulled his mask from the inside of his coat, shoving it on his face, the smoke trailing out in long trails from behind the mask, and after he pulled two shotguns from the infinite darkness that was inside his coat.

 

Jack Morrison wasn't going to get away with this. God help the man who ruined it, Reaper remembered telling himself, even if that man is Jack God Damn Morrison Himself.


	18. Tonbe

Reaper existed in a twisted world of pain. The shadows licked at the walls, trying to take them into hell with them, and all he could see was pain. He swallowed back the beginnings of tears - no, no, he wasn't going to fucking cry over that son of a bitch, he was going to make this _right_ \- and steeled himself with anger, the shadows growing hot with his hatred. One heavy boot came in contact with the door, sending it crashing into the room, and there, right in front of him, was Jack Morrison. His mask was off and there was fear on his face, so much fear, watching Reaper glide into the room like some real representation of death, like the shadows were carrying him. Reaper moved swiftly, lifting Soldier 76 by his collar and putting a shotgun to his head. Mercy's half cry was lost to the void of sound, because all Reaper wanted to hear was Jack's voice trying to apologize, to know that he'd made the man afraid in his last moments.

 

"Reyes, Gabe, _babe_..." Jack tried, voice high, and Reaper's other hand shifted from Soldier 76's shirt to his throat. The other man's hands came up to clutch at Reaper's gauntlet, trying desperately to breath. Reaper turned to Mercy, who was rummaging around behind them for her weapon, afraid but determined as always to protect the ones she loved.

 

" _Angela_." Reaper hissed, and his voice was a garbled mess of sound, the usual deep breathy noise but like it came out of the mouth of some beast with too many teeth, with acid dripping from its maw, the rumble coming from somewhere within as the lips didn't move to make sound. Mercy froze, because that was all she could do - the fear was palpable, and it gripped her tightly, Reaper's presence something she had never seen before and wished to never see again. "Get everyone outside. _I mean everyone_ , even the boy. _Now_." He snapped the last word into a scream, and Mercy bolted for the door before he shot her. Now alone, Soldier 76 tried to speak again, even as Reaper dragged him out of the room by the neck, feet barely scraping against the floor.

 

"Reyes, _please_ , talk to me, don't--what happened, what did I do?" He was scrambling for breath to talk, trying to hoist himself up on Reaper's arm as they walked, slowly, Reaper gliding just above the floor, until they were outside. There was a storm on the horizon, thunder rumbling in the distance, the sky dark. "Just talk to me this time, tell me what's wrong, before this is-before we regret this like we regret Switzerland." He choked out. Reaper paused, pulling him close to the mask, closer enough where Soldier 76 could see the pale white eyes behind the mask.

 

"The only thing I regret about Switzerland is that you didn't die alongside me." Reaper growled, voice so dark and so full of hatred and venom it seemed to drip from his mouth. He continued to drag Soldier 76 until they were near the edge of the cliff, and soon enough, Mercy appeared, with everyone else shuffling along behind her. They were all quiet, all apparently aware of the danger, and any quiet whispering went silent as they saw the scene in front of them. Reaper held Soldier 76 up by the neck for a long moment, feeling the man's heart rate pick up under his fingers, feeling the fear dripping off of him. After a moment, he tossed the man to the ground in front of him, retrieving a shotgun and putting it to the man's head.

 

"Tell them what you did!" Reaper was nearly screaming, loud and deep and hurt, and the shotgun clicked as he primed it. "Start from the beginning. Tell them everything." He cast his eyes up to the group, raising the other shotgun in their direction. "And any movement, any sound, anything out of you and I kill _all of you right here_." He panned the shotgun over the group, and they nodded along, because none of them dared try anything. Reaper was still manifesting as mostly shadow, with power they hadn't ever seen before, power they didn't dare try and fight. They didn't know what Reaper could do, and even if they did want to try and deal with it, they didn't want to harm Soldier 76 in the process. The man coughed on the ground for a moment, and Reaper pressed the barrel against his neck impatiently.

 

"I... I made a deal with him. I told him I would give him something if he trained the boy." Soldier 76 stood up, coughing into his palm as he did so. "I told him he could kill me." He looked at the faces, and there was heartbreak on his face, and heartbreak on theirs. They seemed appalled that he would trade so much and not tell them, and he felt terrible about it. Even the boy signed his name - _Uncle 76 -_ in a weird sort of pity and surprise. "I didn't want... I didn't want you to know, I didn't think... I knew if I told you, it would all just get... worse."

 

"Now tell them how you fucked it up." Reaper hissed, shifting up behind Soldier 76, gun to the back of his neck. "Tell them what you did to me!" He was loud, booming, the voice coming from deep within him.

 

"I didn't _do_ anything." Soldier 76 snapped back, no longer really afraid. He was dying, he realized this now - fighting with Reaper wouldn't change that. "And if I did, you won't _tell me_ what it is!" He immediately regretted the retort, as Reaper cast aside the shotgun and reached for Soldier 76's throat again, clamping on it tightly.

 

"You _tricked me_!" Reaper snarled, dropping his other shotgun and bringing back his fist. He slammed it into Soldier 76's face, repeating the motion as he talked. The gauntlets were hard metal and sharp, and left long scrapes across Soldier 76's face, and the knuckles split his lip and broke his nose, casting blood down his front. "You worked this _whole thing_ so I would spare you! The _date_ , the _walks_ , it was all part of your _plan_ to keep your own ass alive!" Reaper screamed, slamming his fist into Soldier 76's face, and then chest, and then face again. He kept his other hand on the man's neck, slowly choking him, monitoring his breathing and heartbeat, because he didn't want the man to die, not yet. He had more planned. "You _used me_ for your own gain, Jack Morrison, just like you used me before." Soldier 76 didn't respond, face too split to talk around the blood in his mouth, too dazed from getting the shit kicked out of him. "So now you're going to suffer," Reaper let go of Soldier 76's neck, letting him drop to the floor, broken but alive, and stood, gesturing to the waiting crowd with bloody hands, "and _you_ are going to stand there and witness it."

 

He pulled a shotgun out of his coat, forgetting the ones on the floor by his feet, and stood over Soldier 76's body, an executioner standing over his victim, a vulture over his prey. Thunder clapped in the background, rain over the ocean behind them, and Reaper cut a dark swathe across the skyline, a shadow marring what would be a beautiful view. "Any last works, Jack?" He asked, leveling the shotgun at Soldier 76's head. Morrison reached up to his own face, making a motion they all recognized as one of the first things Streetmouse learned how to sign - Mask - and pulled his hands away from his face. _Mask off_. Reaper frowned, but reached up, taking his mask and throwing it across the pavement. It skittered to a stop several feet away, leaving the man's face exposed. He was mostly shadow under the hood, but his features were still distinct, and his eyes were pale and pupil-less, white like two starry pinpricks in the shadows of his face. A dark tear streaked from his eyes. He told himself he wouldn't cry over this son of a bitch, but he couldn't hold to that, seeing the moment of joy cross Soldier 76's face at getting his last request. But that wasn't acceptable, joy being the last emotion on Soldier 76's face, so Reaper leveled the shotgun at his abdomen.

 

The shotgun blast sounded like a clap of thunder, and tore a large hole in Jack Morrison's stomach. He gasped, back arching off the pavement, eyes wide with pain and mouth open in a silenced scream. His hands reached for the hole, trying to stifle the blood in some misplaced muscle memory, pain coursing through his system. Reaper fired again, another hole, and then a third, watching Soldier 76's body buck and lurch at the searing pain rushing through him. He bent down, casting the shotgun away, taking Soldier 76's face in his hands, watching his expression change as the pain started to fade, as he started to slip away.

 

The last words on his lips were " _Gabe..._ " and then the light slipped from his eyes, leaving them open and empty - and in that moment, Jack Morrison died.

 

Reaper didn't move until a loud, hiccuping sob from afar made him remember there were other people present, and he turned to the group, shotgun raised. They were shuffling around, pulling out weapons, looking at him like he was a murderer, like he was something to kill, and he couldn't die now, no. He'd finally gotten what he wanted, and now he needed to live the rest of his life in peace. Empty, heartbroken peace, but peace all the same. He couldn't leave, though, as they blocked all the exits, and he had to think quickly. Junkrat had set the boy down, and he saw his chance.

 

He shifted to shadows, flashing behind the boy and grabbing him roughly, before teleporting back to his original position. The boy was sobbing, hot, wet tears, heart racing under Reaper's grip, shaking slightly. Was he a dick for taking the boy captive? Maybe, but he needed to get away, and if he could bring Talon the boy, maybe they would accept him back as something other than a failure. He raised a shotgun to the boy's head, and the group suddenly stilled, Reaper having moved in a blink. "You shoot at me, the boy dies." Reaper growled. He could feel the boy fiddling around at his arm, possibly scrabbling to get out of his grip, but he didn't care right now. He need to figure out the best exit, and he'd just bought himself time.

 

He should have been paying more attention to the boy.

 

Streetmouse hadn't been scrambling to get out of Reaper's grip. He'd been taught very well by a certain teacher that fear was what gave him better mastery of the things he could do, and that fear was only a tool he could use, so in that moment, he wasn't afraid, he was _thinking_. Reaper's gauntlets clasped together at the back, and the scrabbling Reaper felt was the boy undoing the two clasps, loosening the gauntlet from Reaper's arm, and then in one fluid motion, the boy bit down, _hard_ , hard enough to draw blood through the fabric of Reaper's shirt. He cried out in surprise and pain, ripping his arm back, and that was his biggest mistake.

 

With a bloody smile, the boy _vanished_.

 

Of course Reaper should have expected this, since he was the one to teach the kid how to use all these things, but for some reason the movement caught him off guard. Junkrat immediately moved to throw a bomb, but Roadhog stopped him, and he realized quickly that as long as the boy was invisible, they couldn't fight without risking Streetmouse injury. Reaper spun, trying to find some semblance of the boy, anything to give him away, but all he got was pain. Pain rushed up his knee, the blade of a knife buried deep there, then his back. Long slices and strings of blood started to appear on various parts of Reaper's arms and body, invisible blades slicing through the fabric and into skin, and occasionally a blade would be left behind, embedded into the skin. Reaper swore, only standing still because the shadows kept him upright, firing a shot wildly at the air and not seeing it hit anything.

 

And then suddenly the shadows vanished.

 

The boy was on Reaper's shoulders, holding him captive in his possessive grip, and this came as a surprise to everyone, including Reaper, trapped as he was inside his own head. One thing Reaper had realized was that the boy was that he could possess anyone, as long as he knew their real name. Each subject he'd found he introduced himself too, but Reaper had forgotten one thing - the boy knew his name, too. Now he was caught, fighting against this sense of control, this blue light in his vision trying to hold onto him. The boy was having a hard time, as Reaper was strong, even injured, and they fought for control for a long moment. Reaper bucked around the pavement, trying to throw the boy off, and Streetmouse would right him a moment later. But this didn't change, and it was clear on the boy's face that he wouldn't win. He looked up, white eyes staring at his fathers, and there was a determination on his face, but also an apology.

 

Roadhog was already sprinting for the cliff edge, but he wasn't fast enough to stop it.

 

The boy used what control he had, guiding Reaper to the cliff edge, and with a deep breath, both man and child went over the edge. Roadhog went for the save with his hook, blindly throwing it over the edge, Junkrat grabbing the back of his pants, Mercy holding onto Junkrat, and together they pulled. They pulled Roadhog up first, and then the hook pulled up Reaper's body - he had passed out from a blow to the back of the head, probably hitting the cliff, and he was in bad shape from the fight - but no child came up with them. The waters crashed below them, waves pushing and pulling, and there was nothing down there, nothing but a hat floating languidly against the rocks.

 

"Streetmouse!" Junkrat wailed, attempting to climb down the rock face. Roadhog stopped him, pulling him into his arms partially in a show of comfort and mostly to keep the smaller Junker from bodily throwing himself over the edge. He was screaming, struggling to get out of Roadhog's arms, trying desperately to get down the long drop to the water's edge. "We can't jus' leave 'm, we have t'get down there, we have t'go get 'm!" He screamed and struggled and eventually he stilled, curling into a ball in Roadhog's arms. Roadhog was quiet, angry. This was the world coming back, he thought, giving them something so wonderful only to rip it away so suddenly, the boy's life as price for their own. He would rather die a thousand times to keep Streetmouse alive for five more minutes. "We didn't even get t'say g'day." Junkrat murmured. He was too shocked to cry, too numb to process, just empty, empty like a spent firework canister, left smoking on the street after it was all said and done.

 

Mercy shuffled towards them, pressing warm hands to Roadhog's arm, face full of sadness and regret, but still steeled. She was used to death, and while every life lost hurt her, she knew how to work through it. She knew she _had_ to work through it. "I need your help. I cannot carry Jack, but I may be able to save him." She pressed her hands to Roadhog's arm, pleading, begging. "Help me get him to the medical ward."

 

Roadhog nodded, shifting Junkrat under one arm as he stood. He would help. He would help because his son had given his life to keep them all alive, and if they could use what time they had to save Jack Morrison, then that's what they would do. Streetmouse would want that much. He looked to the sky, feeling the first drops of rain drip against his skin, and Junkrat started to cry, softly, heartbroken. Roadhog paused, shifting his mask up, letting the rain start to beat on his face, even as his lungs started to burn from the dust. At least in the rain, no one else could see him cry - no one else could see how human the boy had made him feel in the end.


	19. Rekiperasyon

Mercy did her best, but Soldier 76 came out the other side much worse for wear. He woke up the next morning, alive, but nearly slipped himself back into a coma out of the sheer pain. Getting shot in the stomach was a lot of trauma for one man to deal with, and it took Mercy a lot of hours, far too much morphine, and a ruined white shirt to get his stomach stitched back together again. Many nights, he'd wake up, the same as he did the first, screaming and tearing at his stomach, and it would take all of Mercy's strength to subdue him again before he tore his stitches out. Reaper watched all of this, a silent form in the bed next door.

 

He had also been in a bad way when they dragged him into the infirmary, and Mercy had done her best to fix him up all the same. The boy had done a number on him, severing tendons and nearly having him bleed out on the ground outside from the strategic cuts. He'd woke up the first morning to Jack's gasping attempts to draw breath in past the pain, the panting that quickly turned into pained screams, the machine bleeping frantically before Mercy rushed in to sedate the old man. Reaper sat up and found he was cuffed to the bed on either side. "I see you're not taking any chances."

 

"You shot him, Reyes." Mercy sounded like she was several seconds away from just tearing Reaper a new one, and he shrunk under her gaze. "Over what? You heard him tell me he planned these things? You make so many assumptions you do not take time to ask yourself if you're over-thinking things." She wiped off her hands, pulling at 76's bandages, making a face at their condition. "You're staying there until _he_ says we can let you go, so you better hope he wakes up."

 

Reaper sighed, watching her leave, flopping back to the mattress. At least with a blanket over him, he wasn't cold anymore.

 

He finally got to speak to Jack several days later, when the man returned to consciousness without gasping for breath out of sheer pain. Reaper watched Soldier 76 sit up, watched him move shirtless under the blankets, and regret settled into his mind. The old man moved like an old man now, clutching at his stomach with one arm, grunting in pain as he pushed himself upward. He looked so tired, and part of Reyes - the part that sat there the whole time thinking about what he gave up just to have what he got in the end ripped away from him, even if killing Jack Morrison was satisfying - hated himself for causing that.

 

"Jack." Reaper spoke, softly, judging to see if the other could hear him, and Morrison held up a finger, asking for silence. He shifted again, grunting softly in pain, and when he looked up at Reaper, there wasn't hatred there. There was pity, there was mistrust, but there was no hatred. Anger? Sure, there was a little bit of anger, but no hatred. Reaper hated himself just a little more to make up for the difference, because not even the man he had killed could hate him.

 

"Couldn't you have at least done me the favor of blowing off my head, you asshole?" Soldier 76 asked, and there was a soft smile on his face. The smile slipped as he tried to reposition himself, leaning back against the pillows behind him. "No, instead I had to suffer before I died. Hope it was satisfying."

 

"It was." Reaper said, staring at the cuffs on his wrists. He pulled at them a little, frowning. "So was the date." He grumbled. Satisfaction was always so fleeting, and he spent so long working up to the moment of killing Soldier 76 that when it was done, he felt empty, and the satisfaction of having done it vanished so quickly. He would rather have had that date again, because at least the good feelings from that lingered.

 

"The date you think I set up as a ruse." Soldier 76 shifted in bed, frown on his face deep and parental, turning to face Reaper with a grunt, the machine's beeping picking up briefly. "Did you really think I would go to all that trouble just to not die in the end, Reyes? Did you think I would be _that cruel_ to you?"

 

"I would." Reaper said, without thinking about it, and there was immediately regret on his face. Of course _he_ would, but he knew he was an asshole sometimes. Honestly, he was an asshole a lot of the time. But he wasn't Morrison, and the look on Jack's face said exactly that. They were silent for a moment, Reyes staring at his shoes because there was nothing much else to look at that wasn't Soldier 76 staring at him.

 

"For the record, I was informing Angela that there wasn't anything to be worried about." Soldier 76 sighed, pressing a hand to his head. Sitting up was making him dizzy. "You _know_ what would have happened if I told her the deal we made, and didn't tell her I'd gotten you to call it off. I was just so... _happy_ to get to the part of _why_ you called it off I rushed through the part where I told her it was fixed." He leaned back again, letting his head roll back and his eyes close. Every part of him was in pain. Was this what he got for all the things he stole, for all the things he covered up? He didn't see Reaper's face twist like he'd just stabbed the man himself, because hearing that Soldier 76 was too _excited_ about them being together to string together words right and that being the reason Reaper flipped was a low blow. There was silence again, heavy except for the beep of the machine. "Also for the record, I don't hate you. I'm mad at you, and I'm in pain, and I need to recover, but I don't hate you for what you did."

 

"Would you want to try us again?" Reaper asked, softly. The need to kill Soldier 76 had been sated, and now he felt empty. He'd done it, he'd killed the man, and here they were, talking about it, and he realized that attempting to kill Soldier 76 again wouldn't do much, and that this need was a futile waste of time. The only thing that had made him feel full and happy besides wanting Jack's death was being on that date with him, and he scrambled to salvage as much of that as he could, because there was nothing left to want. He couldn't go back to Talon, not after going off on his own, canoodling with the enemy and then failing to kill one of them and regretting it. They were already poised to kill him for all his failures, he'd heard through the grapevine, and they were just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Jack Morrison was that other shoe, and Reaper couldn't go back to see what happened when it fell. So all he had left was Jack, and what he and Jack had built. He felt like he was trying to rebuild a sandcastle as the tide rose to meet him - pointless and futile and unpleasantly damp.

 

"Maybe." Soldier 76 didn't open his eyes, looking less pained as he stared at the ceiling. "Are you asking me on a date?" A smile crossed his features, a little teasing.

 

"Yeah, sure, fine." Reaper grumbled. He didn't like being the one to admit he wanted to date again, he liked Jack begging him for coffee better. He liked being in control of the whole thing. He didn't look over when he spoke, and when he did finally glance to his side, Soldier 76 was looking at him with a smile on his face.

 

"I'll agree, but there are _conditions_." He grinned, painfully. "One, no deals. We do this because we both _want_ this, not because there's any _remorse_ or _regret_ for what happened. I don't want any more outside feelings to fuck up what we have, alright? Two, you have to woo _me_ this time." Jack let out a breath as a sigh, before attempting to sit up again. He leaned over, pain on his face, supporting himself with a hand on the blankets. "I want this, but I don't trust you right now, Reyes. I could love you for all the world and I still wouldn't trust you after what happened. You need to earn that back. You need to prove to me that we can be how we were with no agendas or biases or anything."

 

"I think I can do that." Reaper smiled, small and a little sad. Yeah, he deserved this, but he was getting a chance to make it right, and that, in itself, was more satisfying than seeing the light leave Jack Morrison's eyes. "As long as you make the coffee."

 

"Deal."

 

~*~

 

They had walked endless loops around the beach, rain pelting them in bursts and shudders, and it had been silent the entire time.

 

Junkrat hadn't spoken in any real context since that day. He'd mutter a _excuse me_ or mumble with a gesture when he wanted something he couldn't reach, but he hadn't really said _words_ the entire time. All he ever wanted was to walk on the beaches of Gibraltar, rain or shine, and stare out at the ocean. Roadhog didn't press him, and for once the silence was kind of alright. They would walk, and say nothing, and just think. Think about everything, but also nothing - how the world was kind enough to give them something wonderful and in the same breath cruel enough to take it away before they could savor it, and how life was like a wave, giving and then pulling away again. Roadhog thought of his younger brother, of how both boys were taken before they were allowed to grow into something, and he felt a little less human every time he thought about it.

 

The world wasn't done with him, he thought, and it only gave him all the more reason to punish it in return.

 

That day, it was raining, hard heavy cold rain, and Junkrat was huddled in the hoodie the boy had bought for him. He wore it most days, hood up, rat ears drooping, like he didn't want the boy's smell to wash off of it. Roadhog followed behind Junkrat as they walked, watching his body language, watching him move. Most days, he moved slowly, softly, like he was floating through a dream, but this morning he walked with a purpose. He had something on his mind, and Roadhog could tell by the set of his shoulders Junkrat was going to break his silence.

 

They wandered to the dock they'd found, sitting on its edge, the rain making the waves rough and large. Junkrat was quiet for a long time, dangling his feet in the water, staring at it like it could make words easier. Roadhog put a hand on the Junker's back, absently comforting, and eventually Junkrat lifted his hands, clutching them into fists.

 

"Why is it that every time we get somethin' good, it gets snatched up?" He asked, voice slightly shaky and quiet. He stared at his hands, one warm, one metal, his old arm back in the proper place. "Th'only things we're allowed t'keep are th'things we steal. Is that all we're meant t'be, Roadie? Are we bein' punished fer tryin' t'do anythin' better than stealin'?" He paused, staring at the water below his feet, watching a small fish come nibble at his pegleg before kicking at it fitfully. The fish scrambled for cover, leaving behind a small ripple of a splash. "It ain't right, 'Hog. It ain't right."

 

"I know." Roadhog murmured, soft under his gas mask, taking a large hand and pulling Junkrat close until they touched. He understood entirely too well the plight the younger Junker was working through - was the world trying to tell them they weren't allowed to be good people, or were they just realizing that bad things _only_ happened to good people, and that if they wanted to keep bad things away they needed to stay bad? He rubbed Junkrat's arm, and he felt the other's shoulders shake, and the tears started again, quiet and breathy.

 

"I jus'-we jus'-we had a son, Roadie, a right 'n proper progeny, 'n he was jus' _taken_." Junkrat spoke through the tears, hiccupping slightly as he tried to talk. "He was a good lad, 'n he wasn't 'llowed t'be nothin' more th'n a boy. He coulda done somethin', been somethin', 'n we'll never know." Junkrat turned, pressing his face against Roadhog's belly, hand clenched in a fist, and again, he was quiet. Quiet except for the small sounds of crying.

 

He looked up a moment later, mouth open like he was going to continue, but he stopped. His eyes went wide, like he saw something in the distance, and he scrambled out of Roadhog's arms, wading into the water. Of course, this concerned Roadhog, as Junkrat _still_ couldn't swim, but he didn't go far, wading just to his waist to grab a hat. It was large and made of straw, floating on the surface languidly, and it was familiar. Junkrat pulled it to his chest, slipping to his knees in the water.

 

Roadhog only moved when a rogue wave swelled up and nearly took Junkrat under, but the Junker surfaced on his own with a gasp, and he stilled. Junkrat was clutching the hat in one hand, pointing with the other, scrambling and frantic. His eyes were wide, and he came up shouting Roadhog's name like he was in trouble, tossing the hat to the shore and wading wetly several feet to his side. "Roadie! Roadie!" He called, frantically, desperately, trying to move through the water and having a hard time of it, the waves rising to his chest at some points. He reached down, and for a moment he disappeared under the surf, and when he pulled his head up, he had something large in his arms.

 

Roadhog dove in immediately, rushing to Junkrat's side to get both Junker and Streetmouse to the shoreline.

 

The body was cold, so much colder than he'd ever been, and blue around the lips. His face was bruised, purple along the jaw, and his spine twisted in a weird way, making his hips sit askew. The plate on his arm was gone, large holes in the skin, the arm bending awkwardly without it's support. His abdomen was swollen, full of holes and crawling grossly, and soft pressure from Roadhog's hand squeezed out a fish. Junkrat made a face, sticking his tongue out at the mess.

 

"Y'think she kin do it this time?" He asked, looking at Roadhog seriously, desperation on his face. Roadhog didn't want to think about the answer, bundling the body into his arms and heading quickly for the road to the main base, Junkrat trailing behind with the hat in his hands. He didn't want to think of what would happen if she couldn't - they just needed to try.


	20. Plen Ti Sèk

"Look, we ain't stealin' nothin', s'y'kin fuck off!" Junkrat snapped. They were currently in a store in Illios, the sun hot, the weather warm, and the store having just opened. The employee of the clothing store looked a little frightened, facing down Junkrat's height, but she wouldn't relent. She pointed to the store sensors, which were blaring at them fitfully, indicating that _something_ set them off, and that she couldn't let them leave until she knew what it was.

 

Weeks had passed since the day they found Streetmouse's body. Soldier 76 was well enough to get out of the house, though he still needed to be pushed around in a wheelchair, and he was glad to be feeling better. He was sitting outside, waiting for the others to join him, t-shirt and a blanket thrown over his legs, talking softly with Reyes. Reaper had stuck around after they uncuffed him, sticking close to Morrison when he could, almost afraid to let the man wander off too far just in case he hurt himself. They seemed to be making decent progress on the whole _trusting each other_ thing, and they'd gone out for actual coffee at least once with moderate success. Just because Reyes had threatened to shoot the cashier for making shitty coffee didn't mean it didn't turn out well in the long run. He leaned on the back of the wheelchair, designated wheelchair pusher, laughing a little at the scene inside. Inside, Roadhog stood, blocking the exit with his bulk, arms crossed. He wasn't having any of the store's shit, and neither was Junkrat, and neither was the boy seated on Junkrat's shoulders.

 

Streetmouse had, somehow, managed to come back from his second death. Mercy was literally a miracle worker in some respects, but a lot of it was hard work. His entire abdomen was nearly worthless when they brought him back, dripping, from the shoreline. He'd been dead for several days, and fish had gotten into the soft parts, nibbling away at important things. They had a tank in Mercy's office now, specifically full of Things She Pulled From Streetmouse's Stomach, including a small angry eel, several small fish, and a very angry hermit crab. She had to replace nearly all of the boy's lower torso with cybernetic parts, including many of the important organs and most of the skin. His spine, from his tailbone up to his shoulders was also partially replaced with metal, the vertebrae stabilized with steel. She'd also re-attached his arm and leg plates, and those had thicker pins, and that whole setup was what probably caused the issue. Apparently, cybernetic parts set off metal detectors in clothing stores, or at least that's what Junkrat claimed.

 

They'd gone out shopping, because the boy needed real clothes this time, not just scraps leftover from Mercy's wardrobe, and they were trying to leave with the things they'd bought. They figured Illios would have a better selection of boy's clothing than what they could reach in Gibraltar, and Roadhog was even free to go with just a small face mask rather than his clunky gas-mask. Eventually, the managers arrived, and after witnessing the sheen and sparkle of the boy's stomach, they let them go. Outside, Junkrat set the boy down, and he clamored into Morrison's lap, happy to not walk. His legs were still recovering from the fall, and he preferred riding to walking, and Soldier 76 was okay with that.

 

"Good thing they didn't check me daks." Junkrat hummed, pulling a few baubles out of his pockets. There were a few small toys, some gum, some candy, mostly junk from the checkout line, and Streetmouse accepted the gifts like it was Christmas. Specifically the plain milk chocolate bar Junkrat had claimed, which he rarely got much of at the base. Roadhog really wanted to raise the boy through his first Christmas, because the urge to spoil the kid was incredibly strong. "Still think it was yer new bits that set it off."

 

"Y'know," Reaper commented absently, pushing the chair and its occupants away from the store and down the street. Their next agenda was food, and Morrison had already recommended a place not too far of a walk from there, so he headed in that direction and the others followed. "I like staying here. You guys are significantly more competent thieves than what Talon hires." He hummed. Of course, he liked being beside Jack more, and that was honestly most of the reason he stayed. He felt good, being close to Morrison, no agendas, no work, nothing but their time spent relaxing. It was nice.

 

"Think I saw y'had a bounty on yer noggin, mate." Junkrat handed Roadhog a Zagnut from his pockets, and Roadhog hummed appreciatively, pulling down the mask to enjoy it for a moment. Junkrat also produced a Mars bar and a Oh Henry from his pockets, passing the Mars bar to Reaper and the Oh Henry to Morrison. "What was it, 'Hog?" He then pulled a bar of Warheads from his pockets, and Reaper watched him do all this in astonishment. Junkrat's pockets weren't _that_ big, how much did he _steal_? He needed to have hired Junkrat for Talon's purposes long ago.

 

Roadhog grumbled something around the candy, which was already finished, before putting his mask back up. "Right. Ten million, somethin' like that. Lotta money fer Talon t'offer, y'need t'watch yer date from now on." He nodded, popping a war head in his mouth, and making a puckered face at it. Streetmouse laughed - a sound many of them hadn't ever heard, as the boy had only just gotten his hearing aids in, and rarely laughed out loud before that - at the face, and Junkrat gave him a grin. "Wanna try? Gonna make yer mouth tighter 'n yer Uncle's date after someone calls 'm old man." He said, offering the boy an individually wrapped candy. Soldier 76 shot Junkrat the angriest look he could manage. "Wot?"

 

Roadhog gave Junkrat a playful smack, and this gained approval from the old man. This was how they had become, recently. Of course the Junkers were still the boy's parents, but it was like the other two were the _Junkers_ parents, yet not. They all helped each other, communicated better, helped each other heal and raise the boy in tandem, and Roadhog liked it. They were like a little family, and honestly, he didn't care how human it made him feel, he _liked_ it.

 

"Kin we go swim now?" The boy asked, his voice soft. He'd gotten his hearing aids in, and once he'd adjusted to those, speaking came back to him naturally. Soldier 76 and Reaper taught him English from their beds, and Junkrat taught him what _he_ considered English, which was less than helpful. It meant the boy ended up with a slight accent, and terrible pronunciation, but no matter how much they corrected him, the accent only got thicker. He had learned enough for simple sentences, and they were moving on to more complex things, but he still signed when he couldn't find the words. For instance, after speaking, he signed out _I want to surf_ _with you_ , pointing to Roadhog, and the bigger Junker nodded.

 

"We need to eat lunch first." Soldier 76 had a very good mom voice, and he used it often these days. "But then we can head down to the beach." He nodded. Their plan had been to shop, then eat, then make their way down to the beach, to make the most of their day in Illios. They were all wearing swim trunks, and the back of Soldier 76's chair had a bag with blankets and other things for the beach. Roadhog was hoping to rent a surf board, as carrying his around was impractical, and he wanted to try and rent one for the boy as well.

 

"We can always take the lunch with us." Reyes suggested, pushing Soldier 76 up to the small lunch place. "If the kid wants to swim _that bad_." He grinned, good naturedly, and the boy seemed to get excited at the notion. He bounced a little in Soldier 76's lap, and Junkrat laughed, giggling at the sight.

 

"To go doesn't sound terrible." Soldier 76 nodded, watching the boy hop out of his lap and run for the shop, stumbling on weak and infirm legs. He was getting so much bigger, even with the multiple deaths, that they were going to need to have more trips out like these. They still needed to get stuff to furnish his room. But that was for another time.

 

~*~

 

Lunch was taken to the beach, and the boy immediately ran for the water, wading into his knees. Roadhog found a shop to rent from, and after several minutes of miscommunications thanks to the mask, he rented two boards, and the boys left their lunch for the sake of halfway decent waves. This left Junkrat with Reaper and Soldier 76, sitting on a towel in the sand, eating sandwiches and fighting away birds. Junkrat was the most annoyed by the birds, who seemed to want _his_ sandwich more than the others.

 

"Fuck off, ratbag!" He snapped at the birds, fending one off from his sandwich while another took a bite. He made a frustrated noise, chasing the birds away, holding the sandwich in his mouth as he did so. "Dirty pigeons." He grumbled, once they had decided it was too much work. He looked out to the ocean, watching the two surf, as Reaper hoisted Soldier 76 from the wheelchair and set him on the towel. The old man couldn't walk on his own just yet, so he had to be lifted and carried most places.

 

"You know," Soldier 76 said, reclining on the towel, Reyes flopping down beside him, "Streetmouse has learned how to surf incredibly fast." He gestured to the boy, who was surfing on his own. He fell a lot, but he was doing it, and Roadhog was cheering him on from the board just a little farther out.

 

"Yeah, quite th'little surfie. Wished we lived closer t'the ocean fer 'm." Junkrat finished his sandwich, nodding along. "Loves th'water, that one. Can't surf none at Gibraltar, Roadie can't breathe 'n th'waves would kill 'm." He shrugged. "Figure trips like this should be in the reg'lar roster."

 

"Well, actually, Mercy had a better idea." Morrison shifted closer, and even Reyes looked up. He hadn't heard any plans with Mercy, and he'd been by Morrison's side for most of the recovery process. He frowned, and Jack waved off his look of concern. "We talked a little this morning before we left. I have my, uh, _emergency funds_ , still." Jack tried to sit up a little more, and he needed Reaper's hand on his back to do it without too much pain. "But right now, I'm not going to recover well at the base. I need some place that's easier to navigate, and softer if I fall. I'm going to have to learn to walk again, and eventually, the boy is going to need to go to school." He smiled through the pain, looking to Junkrat for confirmation that the boy needed schooling.

 

"'Course. Know jack shit 'bout maths, or readin'. Where we gonna send 'm?" Junkrat asked, curious. It seemed Morrison had something in mind, and he wanted to know what that was. Nothing in the Gibraltar area seemed to be decent, honestly, and when he asked this, Soldier 76 shot him a wide grin.

 

"Well, I have the funds for us to get a house pretty much anywhere, and getting out of the country might be a good idea, considering the sizable bounty on Gabe's head, so we thought..." He paused a minute, looking to Reyes, who looked disgruntled, and then back to Junkrat. "Maybe getting a house just outside of Santa Monica, California?" He grinned, and Reaper nearly _pounced_ on him.

 

"Say that again." He said, half shaking Soldier 76, half gripping him tightly. Santa Monica was just outside of his old hometown, and there was a part of him that _ached_ at the idea of seeing it again. "Did you say what I think you said?"

 

"Santa Monica." Morrison repeated, nodding, and in a rush of _something_ good, Reyes pulled him in for a kiss. They held this for several moments, long enough for Junkrat to make a face - just because he kissed Roadhog sometimes didn't mean he liked seeing _other_ people kiss - and clear his throat.

 

"Kin one of you two stop _pashin'_ fer a lick 'n 'splain t'me what's so god damn special 'bout California?" He asked, and it was his disgruntled voice that pulled the two men apart. Reaper fell to the side, splayed out on the towel, the happiest any of them had seen him in _ages_. He looked over the _moon_. Soldier 76 struggled to sit back up, Reaper's pounce having nearly landed him flat on his back, and when he got fully right again, he spoke.

 

"Well, for one thing, it's near Los Angeles, which is Reye's old hometown." Jack nodded, shifting again painfully. Sitting up on his own still hurt like balls. "Besides that, there's a lot of schools in and around the area, so Streetmouse can get fully educated, _and_..." He trailed off again, looking to the two playing around in the water, "we found a listing that's about ten minutes drive from the beach."

 

"Fair suck of the sav!" Junkrat sat up straighter at the words, because honestly, he knew _exactly_ how well that would go over with Roadhog, considering the other was currently wading back out into deep water. "Y'think we kin get it?" He asked, because he had no experience with buying houses and didn't know how _any_ of that worked, but he knew people didn't get the houses they want all the time.

 

"Mercy is putting in an offer this afternoon." Soldier 76 had that grin of someone who orchastrated something very well behind the backs of all his friends, and knew it would go over exactly as well as it did. It was a very fatherly feeling. "We're offering well above asking price, so hopefully they'll take it." He nodded, and Junkrat didn't wait for anything else, scrambling nearly unsuccessfully to his feet and running towards the water. He had his hands in the air, waving them around, shouting for Roadhog and the boy. Soldier 76 watched as both Streetmouse and Roadhog paddled in, and he watched them react in excitement, the boy jumping up and down in the sand.

 

"Even when I'm the one supposed to woo you, you still plan shit like this." Reyes said, finally, from the towel beside Soldier 76. "How long have you been thinking of moving us out there?"

 

"Mm, about a week. Mercy's been doing all the heavy lifting, so no one would notice." Soldier 76 grinned at how well his plan unfurled. Significantly better than the last time, at least. "She wanted me to move to somewhere I could take it easy, and the air down there is pretty clean these days. The schools are good, there's middle schools nearby, high schools thirty minutes down the road, beach ten minutes drive. We'd need to invest in a real car, but I still have some funds left over. And hey, if all else fails, we can probably turn one of you three in, take the bounty and then break you back out again." Soldier 76 shrugged, joking but only slightly, and Reyes laughed along with him.

 

"It'll be good out there, for all of us." He said. He rolled over, wrapping an arm around Soldier 76's stomach, coaxing the man to lay down. Sure, he set out on this journey to kill the man, and he didn't, and that was fine. He didn't mind where he was now, because he was happy. He was happy, and Streetmouse was happy, and the Junkers were happy, and even Jack was happy, and there was nothing terrible about any of it. Sure, moving would be a pain in the ass, but it always was and always would be, and they'd tackle every challenge as it came.

 

Over at the beach, having just heard the news, Roadhog looked to the sky. It was clear, crystal, the waves a gentle hum, Junkrat's excited babble about what was around just noise he didn't listen to. The sky was so clear, he felt like he could look through to the stars, and there, just on the edges of his skin, that crackle, a spark, crispness of the air, like something was going to happen. Something _was_ happening, the world had turned back on itself, given itself new life again, and he breathed out a chuckle.

 

"Oi, 'Hog, whatcha laughin' 'bout?" Junkrat asked, looking up at his partner. Something on Roadhog's face looked serene for a moment, but then he smiled, and it was a big, fat smile, shaking his head.

 

"Full circle." He said, before ruffling the kid's hat with a large hand, going back for his board. The waves were calling, and he needed to be back in there again.

 

 

 

~Fin~


End file.
